


The Shots We Don't Take

by MandalaRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Not by Dean or Cas), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Briefly Described Violence, Charlie is ALL OF US, College | University Student Castiel (Supernatural), College | University Student Dean Winchester, Computer Programmer Castiel, Did I fit enough tropes in this one?, Fake/Pretend Relationship, From Sex to Love, Hate to Love, Hockey games, Homophobic Joking/Behavior, Hospital, Ice Hockey Player Dean Winchester, Injury, Jock Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Nerd Castiel (Supernatural), No? One More? Okay how about, One Night Stands, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Panic Attacks, Possibly Demisexual Castiel, Quietly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Sharing a Bed, Shipper Charlie, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Switching, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25668604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalaRose/pseuds/MandalaRose
Summary: Still nursing the tatters of a broken heart and trying desperately to stave off the terror of his impending graduation, college senior Cas Novak decides it’s time to blow off a little steam. Not just any hook-up will do, however. The last thing Cas needs right now is a distraction. On the lookout for someone he can enjoy a steamy night of passion with before leaving them behind entirely, Cas thinks he’s found exactly what he needs in cocky university hockey star and well-known playboy Dean Winchester.Dean is gorgeous, doesn’t date, and is the singular most infuriating person Cas has ever met. He’s the perfect one night stand...that is, until Dean decides he wants an instant replay of what was supposed to be a one-time event. Will Cas’ offer of friends, sans benefits, convince the arrogant love ’em and leave ’em hockey defenseman to find an easier score? Or will Dean wear down Cas’ defenses and lure the sexy nerd in the dorky trenchcoat back to his bed?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Gabriel/Kali (Supernatural), Past Castiel/OMC, past Dean/others
Comments: 333
Kudos: 653
Collections: Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, friends!
> 
> I am so excited to be sharing my first ever bang fic with you, for the 2020 Destiel Harlequin Challenge! You can take a look at my original prompt by clicking on the end notes. 
> 
> This fic marks my third and longest hockey AU to date and I'm excited to say, there's actually some hockey in this one! 😂  
> Thank you [LanaSerra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanaSerra/pseuds/LanaSerra), for your hockey knowledge and expertise. I'm glad to know hockey fans everywhere won't be cringing when they read this fic. Plus, your input really ended up guiding some pivotal scenes in the story. So thank you, friend! And thanks as well to [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz), dedicated and exceptional beta and friend. Your input, as always, was essential to this story turning into something that _I_ won't cringe to read, let alone my poor, defenseless readers, who don't deserve to the be the victims of my complete disregard for comma rules.
> 
> Thanks also to all the Destiel Harlequin mods. You run a fantastic challenge with a great support network and I'm so happy to have been a part of it! Speaking of which, thanks to everyone in the Destiel Harlequin Discord server who were so great to chat with, especially those who helped me out early on by giving me some insight into what it is college kids actually _do_ these days, since it's been an embarrassingly long time since I've been there myself.
> 
> Last, thank you to each and every person reading this fic. You guys are everything! Probably should have put you first in case you've already tired of my blathering and skipped ahead to the story. 😂 
> 
> And now, I believe I promised you some hockey. 😘

“C’mon, you can do it, sweetheart. Be good for me, baby. You know you want to.”

Taking a deep breath, Cas hits the enter key and attempts to run the program he’s spent the past two weeks writing. He senses, more than sees, that it’s (once again) going to crap out after the first thirty seconds and switches from cajoling to swearing.

“No, no! Run, you goddamn piece of C++ garbage,” he shouts at his screen.

Thinking longingly of his early Python days, when he mistakenly thought programming was “not so hard,” Cas pinches the bridge of his nose before rubbing his bleary, bloodshot eyes and thinking about how he’s going to explain to his partner that their program _still_ won’t run.

Normally, he loves the puzzle of programming, looking at the lines of code on his monitor and being able to piece together the images and actions they’ll bring to life in his mind, knowing that most people would just see random words and symbols on a screen. He even enjoys finding that one tiny bug or mistype that can derail an entire program and setting it right, gets a huge rush when that line of code that’s been teasing him for days finally falls into place. Today though, he’s been over every damn bit of code in his opening sequence more than a dozen times and he still can’t find his mistake. 

Feeling like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, Cas finally slams his laptop shut and walks out into the living room, blinking at the overhead lights and having to squint to focus on Gabe and Charlie where they’re sprawled out in the apartment’s open living room, playing some sort of video game.

His roommate is seated on their sofa, one leg hooked over the armrest while the other is folded underneath him, eyes focused on the television screen in fierce concentration, a seemingly forgotten lollipop stick hanging loosely from his lips. Dragging fingers through shaggy blonde hair, he groans around the candy and bangs his head against the back of the sofa as something clearly goes wrong for his character on-screen.

“Get it together, King Candy,” Charlie orders from her spot on the floor, legs criss-crossed beneath her like a small child at storytime, a sharp contrast to the battle-hardened expression on her pale face.

“Yeah, I hear ya, Vanellope,” Gabe grouses, taking a moment to tug on Charlie’s bright red ponytail before bringing both hands back to his PS4 controller.

Shaking his head, Cas ignores them and walks into the kitchen behind the sofa. He eyes the coffee pot for a moment, then turns to their electric kettle instead. He’s been pretty much living on a straight caffeine drip for the past four days. The jittery sensation still trying to overwhelm him says maybe it’s time to switch to herbal tea.

Grumbling, he fills and presses the button to heat the kettle before beginning the search for his favorite mango-vanilla herbal blend, not bothering to be quiet as he bangs around the cabinets. The fact that his roommate is incapable of putting anything back where he found it is undoubtedly why Cas can’t find his tea in the first place, so he’s not all that concerned about disrupting Gabe’s game.

Finally locating the tea in the very top of the cabinet next to the refrigerator where, Cas recalls with a slightly sheepish grimace, _he_ had hidden it specifically to keep it out of his shorter roommate’s reach, he places a bag in his favorite mug, the one Charlie gave him for Christmas that reads, “Give me a <br/>.”

He manages to completely zone out, watching overtop the breakfast bar as Gabe and Charlie inflict carnage and bloodshed on the surely deserving video game characters on their T.V. while his water boils. The kettle clicking off brings him back and he shakes his head slightly before moving to fix his tea.

“Goddammit!” His not-so-quiet cursing a moment later draws Charlie’s eyes to him. Pausing her game as Cas sucks on the now-tender red skin between his thumb and forefinger, she turns toward the kitchen, craning her neck to see over the sofa behind her.

“Hey, Cas,” the redhead chirps brightly, “You okay?”

“Just a burn,” he grumbles back petulantly. “Apparently, not only am I completely inept at programming, I’m now not even capable of brewing a cup of tea properly. Looks like my back-up career choice of Starbucks barista is out the window.”

Gabe rolls his eyes dramatically. “Please, Cassie. Your little genius nerd brain is just as brilliant as ever. It just needs a break. I get wanting to put in a good effort for your last semester, but it’s only the first two weeks and you’ve already managed to burn yourself out.” He chuckles as he rolls the lollipop between his teeth. “Literally.”

Cas raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “I somehow doubt that you ‘get’ wanting to put in a good effort, Gabriel. In four years I’ve yet to see you put forth anything more than the bare minimum,” Cas pauses, “except when it comes to food, weed, and porn. In those areas, you excel.”

His hedonistic roommate pats his stomach affectionately. “Hey, it’s called ‘prioritizing self-care’ and it’s a very lucrative business. Wound up little over-achievers like you are the reason I don’t have to actually give a shit about my classes. So,” Gabe smirks, “as you were.”

Gabe is known on campus as the guy who can get anything. He keeps the students of their little midwestern university stocked up on everything and anything that’s too hard (or too embarrassing) for college kids to track down on their own. Whether you’re looking for a specific kind of fetish porn, the best weed in the tri-state area, or your favorite snack that’s only sold by that one store in your hometown with no online shipping, Gabe’s your guy. No matter how abysmal his GPA, Cas has no doubts that Gabe is going to do spectacularly well for himself after graduation. Cas kind of hates him a little for that.

He wasn’t always this bitter and jaded, but the past semester has been particularly rough on him. In the span of two months, Cas somehow went from having it all ( a handsome long-term boyfriend, a paid internship he enjoyed, and a full-time job offer with a successful company for after graduation) to being an unemployed, painfully single, soon-to-be college graduate with a pile of debt and no career prospects to speak of.

“You do look pretty stressed, Cas,” Charlie says, eyeing him critically as she climbs onto the sofa with Gabe. “I think Gabe’s right. Some relaxation is definitely in order. Oooh, I know,” she says, bouncing on the sofa cushions, “come to my Fem Club fundraiser tonight.”

Charlie, much to Cas’ chagrin, is about as opposite his introverted loner self as is possible to be. Not only is she involved with a number of student organizations, she’s also founded a few, including the _Queen’s Guard of Moondoor_ (an on-campus LARPing club) and an organization she refers to as _Students United to Promote Beneficial Internet Transactions for Collective Human Equality and Safety,_ which Castiel is fairly certain means Charlie has somehow managed to secure university funding for her own personal army of computer hackers. Right now it’s just her, a burnout genius named Ash, and some overly anxious freshman called Kevin Tran who’s nearly guaranteed to have a bleeding ulcer by his twenty-first birthday. Even so, Cas is a little terrified of what the three of them get up to during their monthly late-night meetings in Charlie’s off-campus rental house, surviving off energy drinks and Doritos as they steadily dismantle corporate America from the inside-out.

Charlie’s “Fem Club” actually started out on their small, Christian campus as the much more conservative, “Women’s Issues Circle,” which, aside from an annual fundraising bake sale during Breast Cancer Awareness month, mainly focused on preparing campus women for the stressors of balancing a career with their roles as wives and mothers. Charlie had staged a coup early in Cas’ junior and her sophomore year, filling the October fundraiser tables full of breast-shaped baked goods. It was the group’s most successful fundraiser in university history and Charlie was easily voted in as the club’s vice-president after that. The new name didn’t stick, however, until that Spring, when under Charlie’s direction, the campus hosted its first ever production of _The Vagina Monologues._ Apparently, that earned the club a certain reputation, one Charlie bears proudly.

Seeing Cas’ reluctance, his best friend/internet Robin Hood/feminist student organization pirate goes on, “It’s gonna be a great time for an even greater cause. We’re raising money to start a new peer sex education program on campus since this puritanical institution won’t let our health center address anything sex-related. One that focuses on making sure everyone involved gets their three Cs: consent, contraception, and,” Charlie waggles her brows theatrically, “climaxes.”

“No offense, Red,” Gabe says as he tosses his lollipop stick on an empty plate next to him and pulls a Twizzler from the open package in the center of the couch, “but I don’t think Cassie’s gonna find the kind of stress release he needs at your _fem_ club event.”

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” Cas lies as he cradles his mug and takes a soothing sip of tea.

“Pretty sure he’s sayin’ you need to get laid, dude,” his annoying best friend supplies helpfully.

“That,” agrees Gabe, tapping the side of his nose before pointing at Charlie.

Charlie rolls her eyes, “There won’t be _just_ girls there. _PRIDE_ is co-sponsoring the sex ed program, so really, it’s the perfect place for a little boy-boy meet-cute.”

Cas raises his eyebrows, “You want me to go to a _fundraiser_ to get laid? I may have been off the market a while, but isn’t it a little skeevy trying to pick someone up at a charity event?”

“Dude,” Charlie answers, “this is _my_ fundraiser we’re talking about. It’s basically a kegger with a cover charge. Besides, if you can’t score at a reproductive rights function, you simply cannot score.”

The two of them stare at Cas expectantly, though he’s not sure what response they’re waiting for. He’d told them both that he was buckling down this semester, keeping his head down until graduation, in hopes that by then he’d manage to come up with some semblance of a plan for, you know, the rest of his life.

“My ‘three Cs’ are well in-hand. Thanks though.”

Gabe snorts, “ _In_ \- _hand_ being the operative word there. C’mon Cas. You haven’t hooked up with anyone since you and Derek broke up, have you? Even you need to have your pickle tickled by an unfamiliar hand every once in a while.” The euphemism comes out a bit garbled around Gabe’s mouthful of candy, but the accompanying hand gesture is entirely unnecessary.

“Nobody _needs_ sex, Gabe. And this has nothing to do with Derek.”

This has _everything_ to do with Cas’ ex.

When Cas had discovered Derek in Foundations of Comp Sci at the beginning of sophomore year, meeting another gay computer science major at their tiny, midwestern, Christian college had seemed to be kismet. They’d been dating by midterms and a year and a half later, Cas thought their future together was assured. They’d even moved in together over the summer, while interning at the same company. But then everything had come crashing down, and Cas was left with nothing: no boyfriend, no job, and nowhere to live if it hadn’t been for Gabe coming to his rescue.

Blinking, he looks up from his tea to see his two best friends staring at him sadly. It’s so reminiscent of the pitying look Derek gave him the day Cas cleared the last of his belongings out of their shared apartment that he feels his stomach clenching in anger. He doesn’t need his friends’ pity. He’s _fine._

“Stop looking at me like that. My sex life is fine and so am I, so you may as well go back to your ‘Becoming Human’ game,” Cas grouses as he heads back across the small living area toward his bedroom, tea clutched in his hand.

“This is the last of us,” Charlie says as she turns back around, shooting him a knowing look but thankfully allowing his subject change, though Cas knows damn well she’s definitely not done trying to convince him.

“Really?” Cas asks, squinting at the screen. “I didn’t think you were doing that poorly.”

“No, you dork,” the redhead groans, shaking her head defeatedly, “The game is _called_ The Last of Us.”

Shrugging, Cas sips his tea to hide his small smile as he counters, “Could be Sims for all I know.”

His lips twitch again at Charlie’s scandalized expression. “I swear, Cas, one of these days I’m gonna revoke your nerd card. You are an embarrassment to our people.”

Chuckling, Cas rolls his eyes at his tiny tornado of a best friend before continuing his walk across the apartment. In truth, he knows enough about video games to know this one clearly isn’t Sims, but it’s fun to rile Charlie up. It surprises most people to learn that Cas isn’t into playing video games. As a “computer nerd,” it’s expected of him and it’s not that he doesn’t _like_ the games, per se. He does. In fact, he has a huge appreciation for the craftsmanship and talent the game designers and coders pour into their programs. Some of them are absolute works of art and there are times when Cas will sit and watch his friends play for hours, mesmerized as his brain translates the images onscreen into beautiful, efficient lines of code. However, because fate has a nasty sense of irony, Cas, while being the perfect person to fully appreciate both the aesthetic and technical aspects of video games, also happens to be spectacularly terrible at playing them.

Back in his room, he looks back to his own computer program, still up on his screen and still buggy as all hell and is immediately reminded that he’s currently three months away from being both jobless and homeless. Any future prospects he may be able to drum up between now and then rely on his being able to get through this semester, which is exactly why he’s _not_ going to Charlie’s party tonight. The last thing he needs right now is a distraction.

_Christ,_ Dean needs a distraction. He’s gone over and over the last ten seconds of tonight’s game in his head at least a dozen times in the past twenty minutes. It’s been three hours since the game ended and Dean peeled off his sweat-soaked white and green Forest Hill University Hunters’ jersey while wondering if it would be more efficient to drown himself in the shower or drown the memories of tonight’s loss in booze. While the rest of his teammates’ moods have all improved significantly since then (the beer and shots at their favorite post-game pub no doubt helping with that), Dean still can’t let it go.

He gets like this every time they lose a game and though he knows it’s ridiculous, Dean can’t help but feel like he let his team down. _Again,_ he replays those last few seconds in his head.

_Skating backwards, Dean watches as Miami’s right-winger, Nick Pellegrino, skates toward him, controlling the puck. The guy’s clearly a show-boater, as flashy as his bright red jersey. All night he’s taken every opening, no matter how narrow or easily blocked, to try and break for the net. He just can’t resist the temptation to score. Dean smirks to himself. He can definitely commiserate with that trait off the ice, but here? In this arena? It’s the dude’s Achilles’ heel. They’ve only got about ten seconds left in this game and all Dean has to do is keep this asshat from scoring a goal. Easy. He’s been on this douchebag like spray tan on a Kardashian all night._

_Dean watches Nick’s eyes dart to the net. Oh, he wants it. Dean can see how much he wants that goal. Easing back just slightly, Dean lets himself list a smidge to the left, leaving the barest opening for the right-winger to make his move, a move that Dean’s going to be there to block in less time than it takes this asshole to spell his last name._

_Nick skates a half-step forward and looks once more at the net before locking eyes with Dean, who realizes a half-second before the guy smirks—a half-second too late—that he’s made a critical error, one that’s about to cost the Hunters the game._

_Turning his skate and coming to an abrupt stop amidst a spray of ice shavings, Nick passes the puck behind him, where his center is waiting to quickly pass it up to their left-wing, right next to the goal. Roy, the Hunters’ goalie, who was also clearly expecting Nick to take Dean’s bait, is positioned as if he’s anticipating a shot from the right side of the ice, leaving just enough of an opening on his left for the Miami University forward to make his shot, winning the game 3-2 for the RedHawks._

The feeling of Victor’s hand clapping him on the shoulder brings him back to the present, and he quickly moves his own hand away from his body, before the beer sloshing out of his jostled pint can end up all down his flannel.

“Winchester, why the long face still? Shit happens, man. It’s time to drink and make merry.”

“Or you could always ‘make it with Mary,’” chortles Gordon Walker, one of Dean’s least favorite teammates, nodding at a cute blonde by the bar who’s been casting very non-subtle glances Dean’s way for the past ten minutes.

“Dude,” Dean admonishes, “Mary was my mom’s name.” Gordon just shrugs as Dean stands up. Victor’s right. Just sitting here sulking isn’t doing anything but bringing the rest of his team down. He may as well take off now. If he drinks any more tonight, he’ll be Ubering home instead of driving.

Heading for the bar, Dean takes a moment to check out the curly-haired blonde. She’s short, curvy, and any other night, Dean would be buying them both another drink while already pulling up the Uber app on his phone, waiting to type in Not-Mary’s address. Tonight though, he smiles and whispers to the bartender as he pays his tab.

A minute later, Dean’s signing his credit card receipt as the bartender slides Curvy Blonde another sangria. She looks up at Dean, smiling hopefully, but he offers her a regretful grimace in return. Leaning in, he nods at her drink.

“Another time, sweetheart, I’d be askin’ to join you for that drink, but I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight. You have a good one though.” Dean winks at her disappointed pout before waving goodbye to his teammates across the bar and heading out into the parking lot.

Most nights, CB in there would have been just the kind of distraction Dean’s looking for, but he’s gonna need a little more than supple curves and soft skin to pull him out of his head tonight. If it weren’t already so late, there are a couple of bars in the city Dean might head to, one of the perks of going to school less than an hour outside of Chicago, but as it is, his options are pretty limited. Stepping toward the curb where the only girl to hold Dean’s attention for more than one night (his gleaming black 1967 Chevy Impala) sits parked, a brightly colored sheet of paper catches his eye, flickering in the breeze where it’s stapled to a nearby telephone pole.

The page is advertising a campus _PRIDE_ event, something about raising money for a new sex ed program. The flier promises music, booze, and a “sex positive atmosphere.” Huh. A party about sex, sponsored by the college’s LGBTQ club. Well, if Dean can’t find what he’s looking for there, he deserves to go home alone tonight. Typing the address from the flier into his phone, Dean slides behind Baby’s wheel. Maybe this night won’t be a total loss after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas looks around the party, scanning the room for anyone of interest. Completely unsurprisingly, he had proved unable to resist the combined forces of his two best friends. Charlie and Gabe are both alarmingly persuasive individuals on their own (which is pretty much how they managed to befriend Cas in the first place, honestly). Together, it had taken them less than ninety minutes to get Cas showered, dressed, and in the passenger seat of Charlie’s yellow Gremlin.

Now, three drinks in, he’s decided his friends might be right about needing to relax. He’s already feeling better than he has in weeks. And the more he lets himself unwind under the influence of whatever the hell’s in the Solo cup Charlie handed him when they first got here (and has dutifully refilled as soon as it reaches the halfway mark), the more he begins to consider the merit of their  _ other _ suggestion. Perhaps some good old-fashioned "rebound" sex is exactly what he needs to get Derek out of his system once and for all and finally focus on his last semester of coursework.

He just needs to find the right person for his one night of passion: someone he’s physically attracted to but won’t need to worry about forming an emotional connection with. Someone he can sleep with and forget. No strings, no attachments, no distractions.

A raucous guffaw draws his attention to the corner of the room, where full, pink lips and cheekbones far too delicate for such a rugged, masculine face are tipped back in laughter. Dean Winchester slaps his hand against a well-muscled thigh as he laughs, biceps flexing beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his blue-and-black flannel.

Cas recognizes Dean immediately. After all,  _ everyone _ knows the best (and most attractive) defensemen on the Hunters’ wildly popular hockey team. Campus interest in hockey far exceeds that of any other sport, possibly because the hockey team is traditionally the university’s only sports team that manages to win more than the occasional game or two per season. Their football team is a joke and basketball only marginally better. Their soccer team isn’t half bad, from what Cas has heard, but well, it’s  _ soccer _ and this is the Midwest. So, hockey it is. Even Cas has been to a game or two, when Charlie insists.

Watching Dean from afar, however, isn’t quite the same as seeing the man up close. He’s completely unprepared for those smoldering jade eyes (or their perfectly curled lashes) when they land on him a moment later as Dean rights himself from his full-body laugh and catches Cas watching him.

Cas feels himself flushing at being caught staring, but he can’t seem to break eye contact with Dean. He’s not usually this open about checking someone out in public. After all, this is still the  _ Midwest _ and this school, even as close as it is to a major metropolitan center, is still a  _ Christian  _ university with a largely conservative student body. But here, surrounded by other queer students and allies, and helped by his Solo cup, he’s let his guard down more than usual.

He’s not exactly “up” on campus gossip, but even he’s heard the whispers that Dean’s hockey stick isn’t the only thing that swings both ways. Dean’s as well known for his scoring off the ice as on it (more so even, given that he plays defense for the Hunters) and rumor has it not all of those conquests are women.

He suddenly finds himself fervently hoping the rumors are true.

Dean raises an inquisitive eyebrow, probably in response to the fact that Cas is  _ still _ staring at him.

Cas swallows.

Dean smirks.

Cas frowns.

Dean winks.

Blinking and shaking himself free of Dean’s gaze, Cas quickly spins around and pretends to be absorbed in whatever conversation Charlie’s having with Ash and Dorothy, the cute brunette his red-headed friend has been chatting up all night.

Honestly, Cas is surprised they’re even still here. He’d expected Charlie to charm the other woman into her bedroom and out of her white button-up blouse by now. Apparently, as president of one of the sponsoring organizations, Charlie must feel a responsibility to stay at the party. Either that or her roommates threatened her Funko Pop! collection again if any of the party-goers wreck the house.

He’s still mulling that over when he hears a deep baritone with the faintest hint of a drawl behind him. “Hey, I’m Dean. I hear you’re responsible for this shindig.”

Dean is talking to Charlie, not even looking at him, but still Cas has to suppress a shiver. “Just wanted to say you throw a hell of a party.”

“Thanks,” Charlie grins and sticks out her hand for Dean to shake. “Charlie Bradbury: Fem Club president, Queen of Moons, genius hacker, and the best bestie a totally dreamy and  _ completely _ available dude-loving-dude can have, right Cas?”

He blinks at the sudden mention of his name.

“Cas, huh? I like it.” Dean sits on the armrest of Charlie’s sofa, propping one foot up the cushion next to Cas.

He’s still staring stupidly at those green eyes (how are they  _ so green _ ), when Charlie elbows him. “Say hi to Dean, Castiel.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, but Dean just grins.

“Don’t mind him,” she says with a wave and a pointed look in Cas’ direction. “He’s a comp sci major in his final semester. He’s been up to those pretty blue eyeballs in code for weeks now. His people skills are rusty.”

“And here I was hopin’ it was just me.”

Dean smiles rakishly at Cas, those emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. He hovers around Cas and his friends the rest of the night, talking about hockey, politics, and trash T.V. in turns. He even manages to pull Cas into the conversation at several points, glittering green eyes looking absolutely fascinated by Cas’ opinions on everything from The Real Housewives to the candidates for the next presidential election.

When Dean asks him if he follows hockey and Cas responds with a blunt, “I don’t really care for sports,” the hockey player bursts into laughter.

“Maybe I can change your mind on that,” he says with that roguish grin.

“I doubt it,” Cas replies honestly and Dean’s grin only widens.

Cas can’t place it, but there’s something about Dean Winchester that makes him feel off kilter. Perhaps it’s just how absurdly good looking he is. The man is absolutely stunning to behold and if Cas wasn’t ready for those perfect eyelashes, he was devastatingly unprepared for the smattering of freckles across the bridge of the hockey player’s nose. It’s rare for him to experience attraction  _ this  _ powerful upon first meeting someone and Cas isn’t really sure what to do with that. It doesn’t help that Dean appears to be completely aware of Cas’ attraction to him. It leaves him feeling vulnerable in a way that he hates.

There’s also something unsettling about the way Dean looks at him when they talk, as if he’s always teasing Cas, except Cas can’t quite figure out the joke. He might be charmed by that impish smile and the mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes, if it weren’t equally infuriating. Cas likes to think he can hold his own in the humor department (even if people outside of his immediate circle of friends can never seem to tell when he’s joking), but he’s fairly certain he hasn’t said anything funny enough to have Dean tossing his head back and laughing like  _ that. _

But while he might be poking fun at Cas in their conversations, Dean’s more than blatant in the way his eyes rake over Cas’ body, advertising his desire when every public moment of the past three years has been spent with Cas constantly trying not to look “obvious” as a gay man on a Christian campus. Even when he’d been dating Derek, they’d been careful not to engage in even the slightest amount of PDA, just in case. The open interest is as irritating as it is thrilling, given that Dean appears to take it for granted that Cas would be equally interested in  _ him _ …even if it is true (maybe  _ especially _ because it’s true).

In short, Dean is cocky, charismatic, and gorgeous…and Cas hates him on principle.

He’s perfect.

Dean’s not really sure how he got here, pressed against the cracked plaster wall of the Fem Club president’s rental, his arms full of six-feet of surprisingly muscled nerd with a five o’clock shadow and sex-hair. He’d ask, but since Sex-Hair’s tongue is currently making a valiant attempt to reach Dean’s tonsils, he decides to roll with it instead. 

He’d felt Cas’ eyes on him nearly as soon as he’d arrived at the party. The nerdy little dude’s got a quiet sort of intensity that, combined with the disheveled professor look, is really working for him. The guy’s wearing a pinstriped button-down under a navy-blue-freaking-sweater-vest over jeans. He looks like one of those assholes who wants to be the cool professor and tells the freshmen to call him by his first name, because they’re all “equals in the quest for knowledge,” or some other bullshit. Dean usually laughs at those guys, but this dude’s making him re-evaluate those earlier judgments and awakening a teacher kink he never knew he had. 

Dean suddenly thinks back to Cain, his Humanities prof from freshman year. Okay, so maybe the teacher kink isn’t  _ entirely _ new.

Finally breaking away from Cas’ mouth long enough to suck in a much-needed breath (though being careful not to dislodge the dude’s hands from where they’re pinning Dean’s hips against the wall in the best fucking way), he manages an eloquent, “Uh, hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas rumbles in between applying hot, wet kisses to Dean’s throat, sending a jolt of lighting straight through Dean’s stomach to his dick.

“Not complaining about  _ any _ of this, I swear, but I don’t even know your last name. Unless, ya know, ‘Cas’ is a standalone, like ‘Cher.’” Cas cuts off Dean’s babbling with a press of lips and Dean’s grateful. He’s not even sure why he asked the question, if he’s being honest here. After all, he’s had plenty of hook-ups where he never even got around to getting the person’s  _ first _ name, let alone their last. Sure, having a name gives him something to moan (or on a  _ really _ good night, scream) later, but “Sweetheart” or “Baby” work just fine in a pinch. There’s something about Cas, though, that makes Dean want to know more.

The guy has a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that’s so deadpan it makes Dean determined to try and get a rise out of him at every opportunity. And he makes the most adorable faces when Dean asks him about anything related to pop culture (especially reality T.V.) as if he’s both bewildered by the concept and offended that Dean would expect him to know anything about it. On the flip side though, even drunk, he’s able to articulate eloquent and detailed opinions on anything from politics to pizza toppings (he’s  _ wrong _ of course, pineapple does not fucking belong on a pizza, but still).

“Novak,” Cas murmurs against his lips and he sounds a little surprised, whether at the question or the fact that he’s answering, Dean’s not sure. His voice is steady though, just as steady and even as it had been when they were debating pizza toppings. If anything, he’s even more controlled now than he was while defending the fucking abomination that is Hawaiian pizza, and that just won’t do.

Dean wants, no…Dean  _ needs _ to see this dude come undone.

“Cas Novak, huh? I can’t decide if you sound like a superhero’s secret identity, a member of the Russian mob, or an accountant.”

“Dean,” Cas says flatly, placing a palm over Dean’s mouth, “Stop talking.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, pushing off from the wall and stepping into Cas’ space as the other man drops his hand to Dean’s shoulder. “You know, you’re pretty bossy for a computer nerd slash accountant.”

Cas’ eyes darken and Dean suddenly finds himself shoved back up against the plaster so hard his head hits the wall with a dull thud. Not that he’s really got time to worry about that, not with the way Cas’ breath is hot and heavy in Dean’s ear as he whispers, “You should show me some respect.”

_ Jesus Fucking Christ.  _ It’s always the quiet ones.

“You wanna get outta here?” Dean would be embarrassed about how goddamn breathy he sounds, but frankly he’s amazed he can manage words at all, given the way all the blood has taken an express route straight from his head to his suddenly very respectful dick, which is aching to stand at attention. Licking dry lips, he watches Cas’ eyes drop as he follows the movement.

“Where?”

“Your place?”

“No.”

“Okay, then,” Dean rolls his eyes, lifting his hands in a placating gesture when Cas raises an eyebrow and holy fuck did  _ that _ ping Dean’s newly activated teacher kink. He’s suddenly imagining  _ Dr. Novak _ in one of their university lecture halls, asking Dean to stay after class. He’d probably call him  _ Mr. Winchester _ in that way teachers only do when they’re  _ really _ disappointed in you. 

“My place? I don’t usually take people home, but I think you might be worth breaking my rule.”

“How flattering,” Cas answers drily.

“Well, how about it? We doin’ this?” Dean asks, trying to keep the impatience out of this voice.

Cas tilts his head for a moment and Dean has the distinct impression he’s being weighed and measured and Jesus Christ, he hasn’t experienced this level of scrutiny since college recruiters first started showing up at his games in high school. Not daring to look away, he stares into crystalline blue eyes, trying to ignore the kiss-bitten pink lips and liquor-flushed cheeks that threaten to lure his gaze away.

“Okay,” Cas answers at last and Dean exhales, already pulling out his phone to order an Uber.

Dean came to this party looking for a distraction and he’s pretty sure the sexy nerd in the dorky trench coat is capable of not only distracting him from his colossal fail in tonight’s game but of fucking him so hard he forgets how to play hockey entirely. The fact that Dean managed not to laugh outright when Cas grabbed said trench coat from Charlie’s bedroom before they headed out to their waiting Uber is a testament to exactly how desperate Dean is to feel this dude’s dick in his ass.

A lot of people think the morning after is the most awkward part of any hook-up, but Dean disagrees. This is the part he likes the least, the Uber ride. He and Cas had their tongues down each other’s throats less than five minutes ago and now here they are in the back of some stranger’s sedan, seated a careful six inches apart like a pair of slow dancing middle schoolers, making quiet chit-chat with the driver like they  _ aren’t  _ about to go fuck each other’s brains out.

Still though, Dean’s grateful Cas is a non-Uber-PDA kind of hook-up. It’s even worse when the person he’s going home with is hanging all over him, slobbering in Dean’s ear while he makes apologetic grimaces at the driver in the rearview mirror and attempts to keep his “date’s” hands in his northern hemisphere. 

As they pull up to Dean’s apartment, Cas, apparent gentleman that he is, actually stands there and holds the damn car door open for Dean, closing it behind him once they’ve both wished their driver, Phil (what? Dean’s a people person) a good evening. They’re headed into Dean’s ancient and lucky-to-still-be-standing apartment building when a shout and a whistle cause them both to turn.

“Dean. Dean!”

“Hey, Marv,” Dean casually greets the homeless man who often occupies the curb outside of his apartment building, sitting next to a rusted old shopping cart. “What are you doin’ out so late? It’s cold out here, man. The shelter full-up?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve got somewhere to go. I just wanted to say I heard about tonight’s game. A real twist ending, I thought. I love a good twist ending. Guess you didn’t see that one comin’ though, huh, Dean?” Marv grins slyly and Dean sighs internally. There are times Dean really wishes college hockey wasn’t as popular with the townies as it is on campus, especially when it comes to Marv. Marv is a Grade A douche.

“No, Marv, guess I didn’t. You sure you got someplace to go tonight? I don’t like the thought of you bein’ out here all night, man.” Honestly, Dean doesn’t like the thought of Marv at all, but that doesn’t mean he wants to walk out of his apartment building tomorrow morning to find a frozen Marv-sicle on his front stoop.

“I’m good, Dean. I promise. I’ve got a good place. Somewhere the archangels won’t find me.”

And there it is, the number one reason Dean tolerates an asshole like Marv. The guy’s coo-coo for Coco Puffs. Marv thinks he’s being hunted by angels, archangels specifically, who are out to steal the word of God from him. Why does Marv have the word of God, you ask? That would be because Marv used to be the Creator’s holy secretary, back before God  _ abandoned the earth _ and stopped paying his child support, becoming the universe’s shittiest deadbeat dad. Dean’s paraphrasing, here, but that’s the gist.

“Sounds good, man,” Dean soothes pulling out his wallet and holding out a bill, “but here, take this and get yourself something warm to eat, alright?”

“You’re a good guy, Dean. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“Uh, sure. You take care, now.”

Pocketing the twenty, Marv looks up, eyes widening as he seems to notice Cas for the first time where he’s standing behind Dean, wearing a thoughtful frown.

“What’s  _ he _ doing here?” Marv asks, raising an arm covered by a tattered and stained gray jacket sleeve to point at Cas. “He’s one of them! He’s an angel!”

Cas’ eyes widen, but he wisely keeps quiet and remains where he is.

“Whoa, easy Marv,” Dean soothes, stepping directly in front of Cas to shield him from the homeless man’s view. “Cas is just a…friend. He might look like an angel,” Dean smirks, “but he ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“M-maybe,” Marv stammers and runs dirty fingers through unwashed hair, “Maybe he’s just one of their vessels.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” Dean agrees, still keeping himself between Cas and Marv. Most days, Dean would tell you Marv is harmless, but even the most harmless of people can act unpredictably at times and Marv’s mental state is anything but predictable.

Muttering to himself and looking repeatedly over his shoulder at Cas, Marv grabs his shopping cart from its impromptu parking spot and shuffles off down the road, in the direction of the nearest diner…and liquor store. Dean shrugs, figuring whatever Marv needs to keep him warm on a night like this isn’t any of his business.

Once man and buggy have turned the corner and are out-of-sight, Dean looks at Cas sheepishly.

“Sorry about that. Marv can be—”

“Unpleasant,” Cas finishes and Dean nods.

“Yeah.”

“And yet you’re kind to him anyway. That’s admirable. Not everyone would be.”

Cas looks at him like he’s seeing Dean for the first time and the scrutiny makes Dean shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it. You still comin’ in?”

Mentally cursing Marv for interrupting his very important plans to get fucked into his mattress, Dean leads Cas to his shitty one-bedroom, unlocking the door with its peeling green paint and trying not to look embarrassed as he steps into the tiny living room with its faded paneling and shabby carpet.

“Sorry, I know it’s not much,” Dean starts, but Cas interrupts him.

“Do you have roommates?”

“Uh, nope,” Dean answers, thinking to himself that if he had roommates, he’d at least be able to afford something halfway decent. “Just me.”

“Then it’s perfect.”

Dean’s eyebrows lift in surprise as Cas cups a hand around the back of his neck and drags him in for a kiss. It’s a little less forceful than in Charlie’s darkened hallway (Dean doesn’t feel his teeth rattling around in his skull, for one thing), but no less heated.

Gripping the lapels of the trench coat, Dean pushes it off Cas’ shoulders. Taking the hint, Cas shrugs out of the beige fabric easily (he should, it’s only two sizes too big) and Dean tosses it blindly onto the stained, secondhand sofa.

Cas kisses the same way he argues over pizza toppings and potential presidents: confidently, passionately, and so thoroughly Dean’s doubting everything he thought he ever knew on the topic. That’s okay though, because it turns out Cas’ tongue is an excellent teacher.

Stumbling down the hall toward Dean’s room, they manage to divest themselves of four shoes, one sweater vest, and a flannel before reaching the threshold.

Shoving Cas down onto his bed, Dean strips off his own black t-shirt before straddling Cas and going to work on his button-up as the other man’s hands find their way to Dean’s belt buckle. He lets out a frustrated growl when undoing the first two buttons on Cas’ shirt reveals yet another layer underneath.

Glaring at the white undershirt, Dean complains, “What the hell? You’re like one of those goddamn wooden dolls where every time you open it up there’s another doll inside.”

“Yes, Dean, I’m a Matryoshka nesting doll.” Cas rolls his eyes as he unfastens Dean’s pants before sliding his belt out of the loops and letting it clatter to the floor.

Smartass. Of-fucking-course this guy would know what those damn dolls are called. And would somehow be able to pronounce it in perfect fucking—what was that? Russian?

“Yeah, yeah, you know shit. I get it.” His task of unveiling the next Cas-tryoshka doll underneath that pinstriped button-down would be a lot easier if the asshole would quit fucking distracting him. 

He can’t really find it in himself to complain though, when Cas shoves Dean’s pants down to mid-thigh before running teasing fingertips up the legs of his boxer-briefs. Instead, he grabs two handfuls of that godforsaken shirt and drags Cas up to meet his lips.

Still locked together, Dean finally frees Cas of the button-down before reaching down to peel off the man’s t-shirt, bemoaning the loss when Cas has to temporarily stop running his hands and closely trimmed fingernails over every part of Dean’s unclothed torso.

Sitting back to admire his hard-earned prize, Dean sucks in a breath.

“Fuck.”

For a nerdy dude in a Constantine costume, Cas is  _ ripped _ . Well defined pecs are nestled between biceps Dean could weep over, all set above goddamn immaculate abs.

“Dude, you’re pretty built for a guy who ‘doesn’t really care for sports.’” Dean accuses, not that he’s displeased by this development in any way.

“Not enjoying team sports doesn’t mean I don’t work out. Besides, there can be significant amounts of both science and math involved in effective weight-training. It appeals to the ‘accountant’ in me,” Cas smirks.

“Oh, you’re no accountant,” Dean assures him. “You’ve definitely got more of a Clark Kent thing goin’ on.”

“Did you just call me Superman? And does that line actually work on people?”

Dean snorts, “Yeah, I did and of course not. Why d’you think I waited until you were already half-naked in my bed to use it?”

Cas belts out a very surprised-sounding laugh. “You’re a dork.”

“What, didn’t expect that from the meat-head hockey player?” Dean arches a shrewd eyebrow as he stares down at Cas’ golden-toned body beneath him.

“Apologies. Guess I’ll just have to find a way to make it up to you.” Cas bucks his hips upward, bringing his obnoxiously denim-covered cock in contact with Dean’s and yeah, that’s a good idea.

Stumbling off the bed and out of his pants, Dean rights himself at a snort from the dick (literal and metaphorical) in his bed.

“Shuddup.”

As Cas fumbles with his own pants, Dean slides his fingers underneath the thick black elastic at the top of his bright blue boxer-briefs. Equally blue eyes darken in anticipation as Cas licks dry, pink lips, hands stilling on his zipper.

Seeing that he has Cas’ full attention, Dean slowly lowers his underwear, sliding them steadily down his thighs until his cock is able to spring free, already flushed red and wet at the tip. As the boxer-briefs fall to the floor, Dean steps out of them, bringing a hand to his cock as he moves.

Stroking his already rock-hard dick, Dean bites his lip and hisses at the very welcome sensation.

Even from this distance, he can see the way Cas swallows.

“See something you like, Cas?” he asks with a cocky smirk.

Raising an eyebrow, Cas shrugs. “You’re okay.”

“Asshole,” Dean grins around the word. Cas grins back, wide and gummy and it’s the most genuine smile Cas has given him all night. Dean’s instantly addicted.

He climbs back on the bed, eagerly helping Cas out of his pants and boxers, licking his own lips as the purpled head of Cas cock is finally freed, followed swiftly by the rest of a truly gorgeous piece. Cas is far more manscaped than Dean expects, his long, smooth cock surrounded by a neatly trimmed patch of coarse, dark curls.

Dean suddenly longs to have his mouth on that cock, nothing between them, but practicing unsafe sex right after having left a fundraiser dedicated to sex ed seems like asking for the worst kind of irony. So instead, he places his hands right above Cas’ knees and firmly slides them up miles of tanned skin, skirting that perfect cock and moving up the muscled planes of Cas’ abdomen, lowering his own body to Cas’ as he goes, until they’re both sighing and moaning as their desperate cocks slide together.

Dean had planned on getting fucked tonight, but the urge to worship this man’s body instead, to dedicate himself to Cas’ pleasure, to get him writhing and needy and panting before he slides inside and finds Cas’ sweet spot…it’s overwhelming. It’s not that one can’t provide that kind of care and attention while bottoming, not at all. It’s just a hell of a lot easier to resist the temptation when Dean’s face down, ass up.

Truth is, Dean loves to take care of people, especially when he’s feeling down on himself. Making someone else feel better when he’s feeling shitty is a natural boost for Dean. But it’s a luxury he rarely allows himself to indulge in fully, particularly during sex. That way lies danger, especially with the kind of vulnerable, wide open look in Cas’ eyes right now. But damn, does Dean  _ want _ .

“So,” he asks instead, “wanna fuck me?”

The vulnerable expression on Cas’ face closes off, replaced with one of relief. Dean echoes that relief, even if he’s feeling oddly bereft too.

“Fuck, yes,” comes Cas’ reply and Dean only has a second to feel the way his lust ramps up at that before Cas has flipped them, which, holy shit. Dean’s a hockey player, for fuck’s sake. He is  _ not _ a small dude and Cas just rolled him like he weighs nothing. Dean is suddenly not regretting that Cas is going to be doing the topping tonight.

His shocked arousal must be plain on his face, because Cas smirks. “Not bad for a computer nerd, huh?”

Dean’s about to come up with some smartass response to that, but what do you know, Cas’ tongue is in his mouth again. A moment later, he feels the other man’s hand wrap around his dick and, fuck, it’s probably a really good thing Dean isn’t topping after all. There’s every possibility that he might completely embarrass himself tonight by coming before they really even get started.

Fingers trail down past Dean’s balls, tracing along his perineum, then pause as Dean instinctively widens his legs, trying to get Cas’ fingers where he really wants them.

“Lube and condoms?” Cas asks and Dean waves an arm in the direction of his nightstand.

Smirking at how wrecked Dean already is, the asshole, Cas crawls over top of him to reach the drawer, his dripping cock smearing a trail of precome across Dean’s trembling stomach as he goes.

Returning to his position between Dean’s legs, Cas pours a generous amount of lube into one hand. Dean’s expecting to feel cool, lubed fingertips at his entrance, jumping and letting out a moan when he feels Cas’ hand wrap around his length again instead. Dean’s hips rock upward without his say so and Cas smiles at his neediness. He wants to be annoyed at how much this jerk is enjoying his desperation, but he can’t quite manage it when Cas starts stroking him in earnest.

Dean’s just about to warn Cas that this is all gonna be over way sooner than either of them want if he doesn’t get his hand off Dean’s dick, when the man slows his motion. He pauses to add more lube before sliding a probing finger between Dean’s cheeks.

Dean gasps as that finger begins tracing slow but firm circles over his opening, letting out an honest-to-god whimper when Cas slips inside. He slides his finger in and out, the path smoothed by the lube. Tensing automatically at the intrusion, Dean relaxes when Cas rubs his thigh sweetly with his free hand. Once he’s fully relaxed, putty in Cas’ hands, he feels a second finger slip in next to the first.

The mild sting and stretch feels amazing and Dean hums, rocking his hips in order to get Cas’ fingers closer to where he wants them. Cas is staring at Dean’s hole, watching the way Dean takes his fingers and Dean feels his cock twitch under the intensity of that look. A moment later Cas twists his wrist slightly to change the angle and his fingers drag over Dean’s prostate, pulling a throaty moan from him.

Apparently inspired, Cas repeats his actions, curling his fingers even more until he’s pressing on that spot with every thrust. In very short order, Dean’s not just wrecked, he’s fucking demolished. He’s panting and biting his lip to hold back his begging, which just leads to more, (very manly) whimpering. His cock is weeping and Dean’s not far behind.

Eyes traveling up Dean’s sweat dampened body to his face, Cas smirks before leaning over him, thumbing his lip out from between his teeth and covering Dean’s mouth with his own. The kiss softens the sense of loss when Cas slips his fingers out.

Pulling back just enough for his lips to still graze Dean’s when he speaks, he murmurs, “Want something, Dean?”

“You fucking know what I want, you dick,” Dean accuses, which would sound far more impressive if his voice wasn’t warbling.

This is way more foreplay than Dean’s accustomed to with one-night-stands and quite frankly, he’s overwhelmed. What the fuck is this asshole trying to do, ruin Dean for all future fucks? Because he just might do it.

Cas leans back and Dean hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper and the snap of the lube cap. Opening eyes he’d closed against the onslaught of sensation, he sees Cas stroking lube over his condom-sheathed dick and lets out another whimper.

Cas smooths a soothing hand over Dean’s hip before suddenly hooking his arms underneath Dean’s knees and jerking his ass down the bed sheets until he’s resting snugly against Cas’ thighs.

“Fuck,” Dean moans faintly at the show of strength. How the hell does this guy know all of Dean’s weak spots already?

Not wasting any more time, Cas lines up with Dean’s hole and begins steadily sliding home. Dean forces his body to relax around Cas’ cock, which is pretty damn easy given the fact that he’s practically jelly by this point anyway.

At last Cas begins to move, wrapping Dean’s legs around his waist before leaning back down to capture his mouth in another kiss and  _ holy hell _ , this is not the impersonal, drunken one-night-stand sex Dean signed up for. This is something else entirely and Dean should stop it, shouldn’t allow it, but he’s so fucking weak for this guy. Fucking forget superhero. Cas’ is a goddamn sex-god disguised as a computer nerd.

Fuck it, just for tonight, Dean can let himself have this.

Rocking down to meet Cas’ thrusts, Dean lets go. He moans with abandon, letting Cas’ name tumble from his lips like a prayer.

“Fuck, Cas. More. Please, more.”

Picking up pace, Cas sits back up, hooking his arms under Dean’s legs again and lifting him slightly. The new angle accomplishes Cas’ goal of finding Dean’s prostate again and he starts up a merciless assault, slamming into Dean like a man possessed.

“There! Right there, Cas. Fuck, yes!” Dean pants and moans and begs as he feels that tension coil inside of him. A spring just waiting for release.

“Dean,” Cas warns, gravelly voice strained and breathless, “I’m not gonna…Fuck, I’m so close. Touch yourself.”

Instantly obeying, Dean begins jacking himself and were he capable of giving a single flying fuck right now, he’d be embarrassed at how quickly he’s spilling over his hand and stomach.

Moments later, Cas is folding himself over Dean, bracing himself with one hand pressed flat against the mattress as he fills the condom.

As Cas collapses next to him, Dean vaguely thinks that he should get up and clean up. Cum crusted pubes are  _ not _ a pleasant thing to wake up to, but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t move if he wanted to. Thankfully, Cas solves his dilemma, a warm washcloth landing on Dean’s stomach and a cool glass of water finding its way into his hand.

“Thanks,” Dean murmurs groggily, rolling onto his side to dutifully down the water before swiping at himself with the washcloth and tossing it on the floor.

Peeling open bleary eyes, he sees Cas’ silhouette against the moonlit window curtain, head tipped back as he downs his own glass of water. Shit, he’s beautiful. Sleepy and sated, it’s a thought Dean allows himself to have.

Finishing his water and setting his glass down on the nightstand, Cas stands there uncertainly.

“Dude, get your ass in the bed and sleep,” Dean slurs. “I’m not kicking you out at four in the morning.”

Nodding, Cas walks around to the far side of the bed and slides under the covers, next to Dean.

They don’t cuddle and Dean’s not quite sure why he feels sad about that. As sleep overtakes him, he wonders if Cas’ll be up for round two before they part ways in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean’s not surprised to wake to an empty bed in the morning (he’s pulled the disappearing hook-up act more than once), but he is surprised at how disappointed he feels.

Well, Cas was one hell of a lay, he figures. Would have been nice to get an instant replay of last night’s activities before they went their separate ways, is all.

Stretching, Dean’s reminded pointedly of said activities by a telltale soreness in his backside. He’s going to be feeling that during practice later for sure. Rolling onto his back in the bright sunlight streaming through his window, Dean takes a moment to appreciate the ache before grunting and hauling himself out of bed.

Picking up the two water glasses on his nightstand and moving to the kitchen to start the coffee he so desperately needs, he takes a moment to be grateful Cas made him drink some water before they passed out last night. He’s sure his head would have been killing him this morning without it and that’s definitely not the kind of pounding he had in mind.

Starting the coffee pot, Dean stares off into space for a long minute, hovering in that hazy daily state between waking and caffeinating, before noticing the hastily scrawled note on the countertop. Picking up the napkin Cas used as stationary, Dean squints at the blocky Sharpie letters:

_DEAN,_

_YOU WERE SLEEPING AND I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE YOU._

_THANK YOU FOR AN ENJOYABLE EVENING._

_TAKE CARE,_

_CAS_

Snorting, Dean drops the note back on the cracked beige Formica and pours himself a cup of caffeinated heaven. Asshole stole his move. “Didn’t want to wake you,” is universal morning-after code for “I tiptoed out of your room like a goddamn ninja while praying the whole time you wouldn’t wake up so we’d be spared the awkward ‘guess I’ll see you around’ moment.”

Pulling a bowl and a box of Captain Crunch (because Dean’s a grown goddamn man and he can eat whatever cereal he wants, thanks) he wonders what kind of cereal Cas likes, or if he’s more of a toast or bagel guy. If Cas had stayed, maybe they could have hit up that greasy spoon a couple blocks over that Dean likes. It’s perfect hangover food and Dean would bet Cas is a bit hungover this morning. He didn’t drink much more than Dean, really, but the guy didn’t look like someone used to a lot of liquor.

Dean frowns at his Crunch-berries. Why the hell is he imagining breakfast dates with his hook-up? You don’t go out to breakfast with one-night stands. Granted, Dean has had the occasional one-night-stand-turned-weekend-fling, so it’s not _unheard_ of. A weekend of incredible sex with someone who’s also fun to hang out with? There’s no downside, so long as everyone’s on the same page, Dean thinks as he remembers Lisa Braeden, the sexy and very bendy yoga instructor he hooked up with over Spring Break last year.

As great as the sex was, just hanging out with Cas was pretty cool too. Dean wouldn’t have minded talking to the guy a little more, in between mind-blowing orgasms, of course.

Finishing his cereal and slurping the now purple-tinted milk, Dean shakes his head to clear it of sexy, Constantine-cosplaying computer nerds as he sorts through yesterday’s mail on the counter. Seeing an envelope with a return address for Boeing Industries in Arlington, VA, he pauses, fingering the top corner of the envelope for a long moment before finally tossing it back on the countertop.

Taking last night’s sheets down to the laundry room, Dean tosses them in the wash as he tries to clear his head of blue-eyed one-night stands and unopened envelopes. He’s got practice in a couple of hours and it’s time to start focusing on hockey again, now that he’s successfully shuffled off last night’s slump. Yawning and scratching his belly he thinks, not for the first time, how grateful he is that Coach doesn’t schedule morning practices the day after a game.

Back upstairs, Dean heads to the apartment’s tiny bathroom to shower off the dried sweat and other remnants of last night that made it through his half-assed washcloth cleanup. If he happens to end up coming all over the shower wall while remembering the way Cas kissed him as he pounded Dean’s ass last night, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. He’s just clearing the man out of his system, once and for all.

To say practice goes well is an understatement. If anything, last night’s almost-win seems to have motivated the team and pushed the Hunters to a new level. Dean himself hasn’t felt this focused and clear-headed in weeks. Slight twinge in his ass aside, Dean’s on top of the world as the finally makes his way to the edge of the rink and steps off the ice, amid mutual back slaps with his teammates.

Handing him a towel on his way to the locker room, Coach Singer nods and claps Dean on the shoulder. “Good hustle out there today, son.”

“Why the tone of surprise, Coach?” Dean sasses back, a little affronted. He always hustles, dammit.

Mouth turning downward in a frown that struggles to be seen through his grizzled, graying beard, Coach raises a nonplussed eyebrow. “Because normally you sulk for two days after a loss like a goddamn spoiled princess, that’s why.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue with his coach, but then closes it again when he realizes he’s fighting a losing battle.

“I don’t know what you did to get your head outta your ass and back in the game, but whatever it is, you keep it up, you hear?”

“Yeah, I hear ya, Coach.” Dean hides his amused grin. He wonders what Coach Bobby Singer would think if he knew that Dean’s head was “out of his ass” because there’s no room for it in there next to Cas’ massive cock. Sure, Dean’s bisexuality isn’t a secret, in fact, it was talk of the campus for a little while, but he doesn’t actually advertise it either.

Though he hooks up with plenty of chicks on campus, he usually keeps his meet-ups with guys to the city, partially to avoid campus gossip, but mostly just due to lack of options in their small, suburban college town. There just aren’t a lot of guys looking to swing his way on campus and the townies…Dean shudders internally.

Last night was also the first official _PRIDE_ event Dean’s been to in his four years. It’s stupid, but being so consistently labeled a “jock” and hooking up with so many women, Dean feels more than a little out-of-place at those kinds of events. He’s always worried people are going to think he doesn’t belong there, that typical bi-erasure kind of bullshit Dean hates. Just because Dean spends most weekends with his face buried in a pair of tits doesn’t mean he appreciates a nice dick any less.

So yeah, last night was definitely an exception to the rule. Quite a few of Dean’s rules, come to think of it. He fucked a dude he met on campus, at a _PRIDE_ event, in his own apartment. Thinking about Coach Singer’s advice as he showers off after practice (and determinedly _not_ thinking about anything else Cas-related as he’s surrounded by a locker room full of his teammates), Dean wonders if maybe he should make Cas an exception to another one of his rules, too.

He’s normally got a pretty firm, “this ticket is good for one ride only” rule (which is why he hasn’t called the bendy yoga instructor back), but damn. Sex with Cas was good enough that Dean might be willing to find out if lightning really does strike twice.

Nearly a week after his tryst with Dean Winchester, Cas has to admit, his friends were right. He hasn’t felt this relaxed and clear-headed in months. He’s been able to focus better in his classes, he isn’t jiggling his leg or tapping his fingers constantly, and even the thought of graduation looming doesn’t cause the same soul-crushing panic it had just a week ago. Still a vague, unsettling sense of worry constantly in the back of his mind, sure, but manageable. 

He even figured out the bug in the section of code that was driving him insane, which made his coding partner incredibly happy. Andy is now happily working on the back end of their project, though Cas has made him promise not to code when high anymore. Last semester, he’d programmed dicks to rain from the sky in the middle of their mock space-flight simulation. Cas had barely caught it in time to fix before they submitted for grading. Not for the first time, he wonders why the hell he’s still working with Andy.

Poor choices in class partners aside, Cas is now ready to buckle down, nail his last few classes, and come up with a game plan for life after college. 

No distractions.

“Hey, Cas,” greets the deep, velvety voice that’s starred in every masturbatory fantasy Cas has had in the past week (which, admittedly, has been quite a few more than normal) as Dean Winchester sits down across from him at the small table he’d managed to secure for himself in the crowded student café.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greets in surprise. Though he knew they’d cross paths on campus at some point (after all, he’s been seeing Dean around for years), he’d fully expected Dean to go back to not noticing his existence. At the most, he thought maybe he’d get a polite nod if they were absolutely forced to interact. In fact, he’d been counting on it. Because if there’s one thing he can be certain of after last night, it’s that continued interaction with Dean Winchester would be _immensely_ distracting.

He frowns, confused. “Can I help you with something?”

Completely undeterred, Dean smirks and oh yes, life-affirming orgasms aside, Cas still hates him.

Truthfully, once they left the party, Dean hadn’t been nearly as arrogant as Cas had expected. He’d been downright gentlemanly in the Uber, not pawing at Cas like the horny college students they both were and making polite small talk with their driver, clearly not wanting to make the man uncomfortable. Then there’d been the surprising way he’d treated the rude and clearly mentally unwell homeless man outside of his apartment building.

Having a great-aunt who suffers from schizophrenia and frequently disappears to the streets in an attempt to escape the invisible forces she’s convinced are trying to cage her whenever she stops taking her medication, Cas was touched by the simple kindness Dean had shown this Marv. He hopes there are people who have been as kind to his aunt Amara.

Still though, Dean _is_ cocky and brash and completely entitled, as evidenced by the smirk he’s wearing now, as if Cas would (and should) be ecstatic that Dean’s talking to him again. The fact that a traitorous part of him _is_ , is entirely irrelevant.

“Just saw you sittin’ here and thought I’d stop by to say I had a great time last weekend. In fact, if you ever wanted to do it again, I’d be down.” Dean shrugs as if his casual offer hasn’t just made Cas’ stomach flip over and sent all the blood rushing to his crotch.

Clearing his suddenly dry throat, he tilts his head to the side, “Was that a flirtation? Are you asking me out?”

Dean laughs loudly, stopping abruptly and rubbing the back of his neck when people turn to look at the two of them.

“Uh, yeah, it was a _flirtation_ , but no, not exactly. I don’t really do the whole dating thing. Well, not for more than one night at least,” he amends with what looks like a hopeful smile.

“Didn’t we already have our ‘one night’ then?” Cas asks, more confused than ever. Is Dean asking for a _second_ one-night stand? Does he not realize how those work? It’s _in_ the name.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Consider it a ‘give me one orgasm, get another one free’ kinda deal. Look, there aren’t a lot of single guys who are into other guys on campus and you’re hot, so for you, I’d be willing to make an exception.”

The _nerve_ of him. _Make an exception?_ Here he is, blatantly _asking_ Cas for sex, and this…arrogant _assbutt_ has the audacity to act as if _he’s_ doing _Cas_ a favor?

Cas silently fumes.

“As…generous as that is, you might be willing to make an exception, but I’m not.”

Eyebrows lifting in surprise, Dean asks, “You got a one-night rule, too?”

Gathering up his empty plate and coffee cup, Cas stands and slings his messenger bag over one shoulder before leaning down close enough that his lips brush Dean’s ear.

“Only when it comes to you.”

After that, it seems like Dean is everywhere.

First, he’s in front of Cas in line at _Coffee on Main,_ the oh-so-cleverly named coffeeshop on Main Street where Cas gets his morning latte on the way to his dreaded Tuesday/Thursday eight AM elective (not that Women’s Literature is a terrible course by any means, but why does it have to be so _early_?).

The pretty strawberry-blonde barista flutters her eyelashes as she asks Dean what she can get for him. Shooting her a friendly smile, he turns to Cas.

“Let me buy you a coffee?” he asks hopefully.

“No, thank you,” he responds as Dean shrugs and drops an extra few bills into the barista’s tip jar instead. As Cas orders and moves to the end of the counter, he can’t help but see Dean leaning over the countertop now, attention focused on the cute ginger. Well maybe he could help it if he just turned around and faced the opposite direction of Dean instead of sneaking looks at him every ten seconds, but that’s neither here nor there.

Taking one of the sharpies the staff use to write customer names on their cups from the barista, Dean picks up one of the cardboard sleeves, writing something on it before handing it to her with a wink as she sets the drip coffee she’s just poured from the carafe behind her on the countertop between them.

Well, that certainly didn’t take long. Cas looks away and forces down the unease in his gut that feels suspiciously like jealousy. Between himself and the coffee-girl, he’s the one that’s already had sex with Dean. Plus, Dean’s made it pretty clear that they could repeat that experience whenever Cas wants. What does he have to be jealous about?

When he looks back at the counter Dean and his drip coffee are gone.

Taking his own coffee from another smiling barista with a polite “Thank you,” it’s not until he leaves the coffeeshop that he notices the writing on the cardboard sleeve cradling his steaming latte. It’s a phone number, written in a masculine scrawl, with a name below it.

_Dean._

Two days later, Cas passes him walking across campus with two of his teammates, wearing far too little winter gear in clear defiance (or maybe denial) of the Illinois winter, as if trying to avoid frostbite and hypothermia is a show of weakness. Fully expecting Dean to ignore him in the presence of his teammates, he nearly trips over his own two feet when the man holds his hand up to his ear in a “call me” motion and shoots him an inquiring look instead.

Recovering swiftly, Cas rolls his eyes and shakes his head, though he can’t suppress the tiny smile tugging at his lips. The man is insufferable.

Seeing his expression, Dean shoots him a triumphant grin and a wink, before almost tripping himself over a girl so baby-faced she must be a freshman, kneeling on the ground to pick up the books she’s just dropped. Dean stoops to help her, hurrying to snatch up all of her scattered papers before they can be swept away by the bitter February wind. Cas hurries on before Dean can look his way again, ignoring the fluttery feeling in his stomach.

Dean’s in the university bookstore a day later when Cas ducks in to buy a replacement notebook for the one Andy drew lewd cartoons all over the cover of during Systems the other day.

“You didn’t call,” comes the now familiar voice, hovering above Cas as he squats down in front of the low shelf full of notebooks bearing the FHU logo.

Determinedly ignoring the warm baritone, Cas picks up an emerald green notebook before standing upright and finally turning to face Dean.

“I don’t have your number,” he responds blandly, trying not to squirm under Dean’s gaze.

“I gave it to you,” comes the immediate answer. “On the cup.” As if Cas could forget.

“I threw it away,” he lies. Really, he should have thrown it away. He’s still not sure what possessed him to tuck it safely away in the pocket of his messenger bag instead. At least he didn’t do something truly reckless, like program it into his phone.

Dean raises his eyebrows playfully. “That a hint?”

“Are you capable of taking those?” he fires back immediately.

Suddenly, Dean’s expression falters and he takes a half-step back, widening the steadily shrinking space between them.

“Look Cas,” he starts, more serious than Cas has seen him yet, “if you really want me to stop, just tell me and I’ll leave you alone. I’m not tryin’ to make you uncomfortable. I kinda got the feeling you were enjoying this,” Dean gestures between them, “but if I’m wrong, just say so and I’ll back off.”

Cas stares at him. Dean’s just given him an out. All he has to do is tell Dean he’s wrong, two little words, and he’s free. Dean Winchester will leave him alone. For good.

Cas opens his mouth, but no words come out. 

The thing is, Dean’s _not_ wrong. A part of Cas (and not just the most obvious part of Cas, thank you very much), really has been enjoying this cat-and-mouse game between them. As distracting as it is, it’s not an unpleasant feeling, being desired and pursued by Dean. Knowing that even if Derek was willing to toss him aside so easily, there’s still someone who wants him, even if it is only for one night.

How Cas would feel after that night? When Dean does finally move on and leave him behind? Well, that’s another thing entirely and why he _can’t_ give in to Dean’s advances. Still though, that doesn’t mean he wants Dean thinking that he’s somehow made Cas uncomfortable or that his attention has been unwanted. That would be cruel.

Just how _not_ uncomfortable Cas is feeling must be showing on his face because as the silence stretches on between them, Dean’s eyebrows seem to raise of their own accord and his expression slowly begins to shift into an amused smile.

Cas rolls his eyes.

Dean winks.

Cas sighs as he tries to fight his own smile. Dean is impossible.

The look in Dean’s eyes is almost fond when he steps past Cas, their shoulder brushing as Dean whispers, “You’re cute when you’re speechless,” before sauntering on down the aisle.

Shit.

After five more days and three more Dean sightings, Cas is at wit’s end. Thanks to his frequent run-ins with Dean, he’s as tense and stressed out as before. _Not_ sleeping with Dean is turning out to be just as much of a distraction as sleeping with him would be, but decidedly less fun. He needs a new tactic.

“I think you should go for it,” Charlie says when Cas complains to her and Gabe about Dean’s constant appearances over burgers at their favorite spot in town. At his raised eyebrows she adds, “What? Everyone loves a hockey AU!”

Charlie and Gabe had gotten the story of he and Dean’s night together (sans details, much to Gabe’s disappointment) out of Cas within hours of his Uber-of-shame back to his and Gabe’s shared apartment that Sunday morning, of course. It had been far more difficult than Cas had expected to pull himself out of Dean’s bed that day (both metaphorically and literally, since Dean had ended up octopusing himself around Cas at some point in the wee hours of the morning), but not having ever had a one-night stand before, Cas was not in any way prepared for how to handle a morning-after situation.

“I’m not going to ‘go for it,’ Charlie,” Cas argues. “Dean Winchester is a cocky, arrogant, exasperating…”

“Jock? Dude-bro? Player? Man-whore? Ooooh, a Chad!” Gabe supplies helpfully.

“Those things,” Cas agrees, though he’s not entirely certain what a “Chad” is.

Seemingly undeterred, Charlie squeals, “It’s a hate-to-love story!”

“Not everything is fan-fiction.”

“That, my friend, is where you’re wrong,” she retorts with a serene smile.

“Either way, I don’t think it’s _love_ he’s looking for.” Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean was very clear that he doesn’t ‘do dating.’”

Charlie just shrugs. “Well, I still think he’s good for you.”

He stares at Charlie in shock. “Good for me? Charlie, he’s borderline stalking me.”

Expression turning suddenly fierce, she asks, “Is he making you feel unsafe?”

“No,” Cas admits. The last thing he needs is Charlie going after Dean. His friend might be small, but she can be downright vengeful when the people she cares about are threatened.

Expression softening slightly she asks, “Have you told him to leave you alone?”

“Not…exactly,” Cas hedges.

“Do you _want_ him to leave you alone?” the redhead asks shrewdly.

Cas’ mouth goes fish-like as he grapples for an answer and Charlie smirks.

 _Of course_ he doesn’t want Dean to leave him alone. That’s the problem. There are a great many things Cas would like Dean to do to him, repeatedly and enthusiastically, and absolutely none of them have to do with the man leaving Cas alone.

He already knows the sex between them that night had been far more intimate than it should have been for two drunk college students who’d only met hours before. Apparently, Cas is just as bad at casual sex as he always imagined he’d be. Looking deeply and meaningfully into your hook-up’s eyes while you thrust inside them is probably a serious breach of one-night stand etiquette. He’s honestly shocked Dean would even want to repeat the experience, despite all evidence to the contrary. 

Dean’s eagerness aside, Cas can’t afford to sleep with the hockey player again, not with the way his heart has started flopping around like a dying fish every time Dean speaks to him these days. Unfortunately, he can’t bring himself to outright reject the man either. He needs Dean to choose to move on of his own volition. The most obvious answer is to just give Dean his one more night, but as Cas realized under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bookstore, a notebook not-quite-matching the shade of Dean’s eyes clutched tightly in his hand, “one more night” with Dean might just break him.

So no, he needs Dean to decide to move on _without_ sleeping with him. He could always just ask Dean out on a date. Tell Dean he wants to pursue a committed relationship with him. After all, he thinks bitterly, in his experience that seems to do the trick.

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the reminder of Derek and his rejection. No, being romantically rejected by Dean would be just as bad as sleeping with him again.

Cas sighs defeatedly and Charlie gives him a sympathetic look while Gabe washes down a giant mouthful of burger with a chug of his strawberry milkshake.

“I’m not saying you have to marry the guy, Cas, but would it kill you to make a new friend?” Charlie asks, voice tinged with combined worry and frustration.

Gabe snorts into his milkshake. “Friend? Pretty sure Dean Winchester doesn’t have friends.”

Charlie frowns. “Everyone has at least one friend. Dean’s around people all the time. How can he not have friends?”

“Oh, he knows plenty of people,” Gabe agrees, “but that doesn’t make them friends. Does he have teammates? Sure. Hook-ups and one-nighters? In spades. But friends? Nah.”

“How do you know that?” Cas asks suspiciously.

Gabe shrugs. “I’ve known the guy for almost three years now. You pick things up. Appearances to the contrary, Deano is a pretty solitary guy.”

“Well, aren’t you his friend, then?” asks Charlie impatiently.

“Please,” Gabe rolls his eyes. “Dean and I have a business relationship only. I’m his supplier, not his friend.”

Cas had been shocked when one of his run-ins with Dean this week had occurred outside of Cas’ own apartment. Dean had looked just as surprised to see Cas, flushing pink and clutching a shoebox emblazoned with the Nike swoosh to his chest.

_“Cas? I, uh, you know Gabe too, huh?” Dean had stammered nervously._

_“He’s my roommate,” Cas had responded with a raised eyebrow._

_“Oh, your…so you live here?”_

_“Is that okay?” Cas asked, tilting his head in confusion at Dean’s tone._

_“Yeah, of course. It’s just, I’ve never seen you here before.” Dean said, wincing at the inadvertent admission to having visited Gabe before._

_“I haven’t for very long,” Cas had admitted. “My previous living arrangement ended rather…abruptly and Gabe had a spare room.”_

_“Oh, well then, I guess I’ll see you around,” Dean responded, booking a hasty retreat down the stairs before Cas could return the farewell._

“His supplier of _what_ , exactly?” Cas asks Gabe the question that’s been niggling at him since that run-in, knowing Gabe won’t tell him.

“You know I can’t tell you that, Cassie. Dean, like all my loyal clients, pays for my discretion.”

At Charlie’s sour look, he does add, “But I will tell you that it’s nothing dangerous or illegal.”

“So, the guy’s a senior in college and you’re telling me he hasn’t made a single real friend here?”

Cas knows that look. It’s the same look Charlie shot at _him_ when she noticed him sitting alone in the library day after day her freshman year. And the same one she wears every time they pass the cat rescue that sets up on Saturdays outside of the local pet supply store and Cas has to remind her that not only does her lease not allow pets, but two of her 3 roommates are allergic.

“No, Charlie.”

“Cas.”

“Charlie.”

“ _Cas._ ”

“ _Celeste_.”

Cas gets a glare for using Charlie’s given name, but he holds his ground.

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Have either of you even stopped to consider that maybe the guy doesn’t _want_ friends? I’ve seen how the guy operates. As soon as someone shows interest in him that _isn’t_ sexual, he bolts.”

Hmm…Come to think of it, Charlie’s suggestion might be the perfect solution to Cas’ problem. Instead of having sex with Dean or asking him out, Cas will offer him friendship instead. Getting to spend strictly platonic time with an introverted homebody like Cas is sure to bore someone as energetic and outgoing as Dean. Ten minutes of Cas’ “friendship” and Dean will be more than ready to move on to the next cute co-ed to cross his path.

“You know what Charlie?” He picks up his own burger at last. “You’re right. We should befriend Dean.”

Happy with his new plan, Cas smiles at a beaming Charlie before taking a bite of his burger.

It’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on what Dean's hiding? What's in the box??


	4. Chapter 4

Finding an empty table at the back of the dining hall, Dean settles himself in a seat, dropping his backpack on the chair next to him as he looks at his meatball sub with a grin. The dining hall food may not be the greatest, but they do know how to make a halfway decent meatball, at least. 

His lunch is made even better by the fact that today is a Tuesday and Dean’s Tuesday/Thursday schedule doesn’t line up with most of his teammates’, so he gets to each lunch alone. Don’t get him wrong, he gets along with his teammates fine and a lot of them are really decent guys, but outside of hockey, Dean doesn’t really have much in common with them.

He’s about to bite into his footlong when a familiar petite redhead Dean can’t quite place drops into the seat across from him with her own lunch, a plate full of cheese fries. Dean approves.

He’s been so focused on Cas these past few weeks that he hasn’t made even a token effort to charm any of the lovely campus ladies that usually occupy any time he has between hockey, classes, and his student job with the campus grounds crew. But hey, when fate drops a cute girl who’s not afraid of a few trans fats right in front of him, who is Dean to argue?

Pasting on his flirtiest grin and setting his sandwich back down, he hits her with his most charming, “Well, hello there. Can I help you with somethin,’ darlin’?” playing up the tiny drawl in his Midwestern accent that highlights how much closer Kansas is to Texas than Illinois and adding a wink at the end for good measure. Dean’s got an excellent return ratio on that wink.

The ginger snorts as she pops a ranch-dipped cheese fry into her mouth. “Save it, Winchester. You’re  _ really  _ not my type.”

“Sweetheart, I’m everyone’s type.”

“Sorry, dude. You may have the pouty lips and the eyelashes, but you are seriously lacking in the boob department,” she clarifies with a smirk and suddenly Dean knows where he recognizes her from.

“Oh, right! You’re the Fem Club president. We met at your party. Charlie, right?”

Charlie nods with a mouthful of fried potato and Dean relaxes his cocky smirk into a friendlier grin. He knows when to fold’em.

“Well, in that case, what can I do ya for, Charlie, metaphorically speaking, of course?”

Charlie shrugs, “Just thought I’d stop by and say hi. It was nice talking to you at the party. You might hide it well, Winchester, but you’ve got a geek flag flying in you, just waiting to come out.”

Dean laughs. “I don’t know that it’s hidden, it just doesn’t have a lot of room to wave next to all the hockey gear.”

Raising an eyebrow, Charlie asks shrewdly, “That the same story for the folded up bi-pride flag on the top shelf of your closet?”

“Hey,” Dean defends, “I’m not closeted. I’m just…not advertising on campus. Can you blame me? It’s not like there are a lot of options around here anyway.”

Charlie looks at him slyly, “Well, there’s at least  _ one _ totally dreamy option I think we both know. What are your intentions with my bestie, anyway? I hear he’s seen you around quite a bit lately.”

“Uh oh,” Dean answers warily, “This the best friend speech? Cause I gotta warn ya, my intentions ain’t exactly pure. Cas is a big boy, though. He knows what he’s getting into.”

“Hey, I’m the one starting a sex-positive education program around this joint, remember?” Charlie holds up both hands placatingly. “Whatever two consenting adults wanna get up to in their free time is fine by me, just so long as everyone’s on the same page.” Gaze darkening and bubbly expression turning suddenly menacing, she continues, “But you might want to keep in mind that Cas isn’t the only ‘computer nerd’ around here. You might be surprised what a redheaded Slytherin with a high-speed internet connection, some less than reputable contacts, and a certain set of skills can accomplish. So, if you lead my friend on and make him think this is something it isn’t? If you break his heart? I swear on Leia’s gold bikini they will…not…find you.”

The icy shiver that trails down Dean’s spine as she drags out that last sentence just shouldn’t be possible coming from a five-foot-tall girl he’s got at least sixty pounds on.

He’s still staring, sandwich forgotten, when Charlie suddenly perks up, her glower brightening like the sun shining into the center of a tiny, crimson-haired tornado.

“So, how do you feel about video games?”

That’s how Dean finds himself back in Cas and Gabe’s apartment hours later, which still blows his mind. Cas lives here. Cas lives  _ here. _ He still feels guilty about how he practically ran away when Cas saw him coming out of the apartment the other day, but hell, Dean panicked.

The things he has Gabe get for him aren’t really  _ bad _ , but they definitely aren’t something he wants either his teammates or a potential hook-up to see. After all, Dean’s got an image to maintain. In three years though, Gabe’s never spilled the beans about Dean’s secret, so Dean doubts he’s going to start now.

Pushing those thoughts away, he refocuses on the task at hand, taking careful aim before he presses the button to fire and takes out an encroaching zombie with a clean headshot.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, Winchester,” Gabe crows next to him, offering up his hand for a high five. Dean smacks it without taking his eyes off the game.

When Charlie had invited Dean back to Gabe’s to play video games earlier this afternoon, he’d been too shocked (and a little frightened, if he’s being honest) to even consider saying no. Besides, he likes video games. He plays occasionally with some of the guys from the team, but truth be told, most of them aren’t very good. They definitely could be, since he knows from hockey they all have decent hand-eye coordination, but they spend more time posturing and making lewd “no homo” jokes than actually developing any skill at the game.

Dean just doesn’t  _ get _ straight guys, sometimes. They make a lot of jokes about fucking one another in the ass for dudes who supposedly  _ don’t _ want to fuck one another in the ass. The jokes get old pretty quick, especially since they inevitably turn their humor on Dean, who then assures all of them,  _ again _ , that they aren’t anywhere near pretty enough to have to worry about his dick giving two shits about their asses. Except it involves a lot more profanity.

So far though, hanging out with Gabe and Charlie has been easy, fun even, and Dean’s actually surprised he’s having such a good time. He hasn’t laughed like this since…well, not since that night at Charlie’s party.

They’re celebrating taking out another small hoard of attacking zombies when the apartment door clicks open. Pausing the game, they all turn as Cas walks through the door, posture slouching as he stares at his phone, his eternal bed head is sticking up at all angles, looking somehow effortless and deliberate at the same time, the strands more than long enough for Dean to get a good grip.

He looks equal parts exhausted and gorgeous and holy fuck, does Dean want to do this guy again.

“Hey, roomie,” Gabe calls from his seat next to Dean on the sofa.

“Hello, Ga—” Cas freezes as his blue eyes lock with Dean’s. “What are you doing here?” He asks abruptly, wincing when he seems to realize how rude the question sounds.

“Uh, Charlie invited me?” Dean answers uncertainly, gesturing at the grinning redhead with his PS4 controller.

“Oh, really? I didn’t know you two were friends.” The way Cas glares at Charlie makes  _ Dean _ almost wince, but Charlie just grins wider, looking affectionately at Dean.

“We weren’t, until I learned that hockey pucks aren’t the only thing Dean shoots like a pro. Turns out, he’s awesome at first-person-shooter games. He might be even better at this than hockey,” Charlie enthuses, “It’s like he’s been firing a gun most of his life.”

Dean chuckles, rubbing a self-conscious hand across the back of his neck. Who knew all it would take to win Charlie over was the merciless and efficient slaughter of a few dozen computer-animated zombies?

“Nah, just pretend ones,” Dean explains. “Spent a lot of time hangin’ around arcades as a kid while my dad was workin’. Guess I got pretty good.”

“You must be better than ‘pretty good,’” Cas acknowledges, sounding surprised at Dean’s downplaying. “That kind of praise from Charlie doesn’t come lightly.”

“Seriously, why don’t you ever compliment me like that?” Gabe whines, nudging Charlie, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a socked toe.

“Because,” Charlie gripes, wrinkling her nose as she shoves Gabe’s foot away, “You spend more time focused on your snacking than your gaming  _ and _ you get the controllers all sticky. You’re like a giant two-year-old!”

Gabe sticks his tongue out at her. “I still take out my fair share of drooling brain-eaters,” he sulks.

“Well, yes,” Cas agrees with smirk, “but I’m not sure what your dating life has to do with anything.”

“Ouch. Good burn, Cas,” Dean laughs as Charlie cackles and even Gabe has to fight a grin. Cas smiles, looking surprised but pleased as he tentatively bumps the fist Dean holds out to him.

It’s only  _ kind of _ adorable.

“Hey,” Gabe protests, “I think we can all agree that if anyone around here’s dated a drooling brain-eater lately, it’s you, Cassie.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call what Dean and I did  _ dating _ .”

“Hey, I might have drooled, but it definitely wasn’t your  _ brain _ I was interested in eating,” Dean fires back with a grin. There’s that deadpan sense of humor Dean remembers from the party. He’s glad to know it wasn’t just the alcohol.

“Ew,” Charlie groans. “I  _ really _ don’t need to hear any of the gory details from your horizontal sword fight.”

Dean snorts. He likes Charlie.

“But,” she adds, holding up a finger, “I’ll still take you over Cas’ ex, the  _ actual _ drooling brain-eater.”

Dean perks up in interest at the mention of Cas’ ex. He didn’t realize Cas was so recently single.

Wait.

“Cas, was I your rebound lay?” Dean asks curiously.

Cas shuffles his feet awkwardly where he’s leaned against the countertop bar separating the kitchen from the apartment’s living room.

“Um, maybe?” he hedges.

“Awesome,” Dean grins. Dean’s not sure what kind of moron gave Cas up, but his dick (and okay, the rest of him) is pretty damn glad he did.

“This brain-eater got a name?” he asks.

Cas shoots him a look that’s two-parts puzzlement, one-part suspicion. “Derek. Why?”

“Just wanna know what name to put on the fruit basket,” he answers cheekily, grinning at Cas’ blush.

“I’d tell the two of you to get a room, but unfortunately I  _ live _ here and really don’t need those sounds echoing around my brain-space,” Gabe grumbles with an eyeroll.

Clearing his throat sheepishly, Dean quickly changes the subject, “So, Cas, you want a turn?” He holds his controller out to Cas, shaking it when Cas doesn’t take it right away.

“Oh,” Charlie laughs, “Cas doesn’t play video games.” 

“What? Why not?” Dean asks, incredulous.

“Because he sucks at’em,” Gabe mumbles around a mouthful of licorice, ignoring Charlie’s pointed glare at his hands.

“Wait,” Dean turns on the couch to face Cas more fully. “You mean you’re a computer programmer and you suck at computer games?”

Gabe grins, swallowing his licorice. “Ain’t it great?”

Cas rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, but Charlie cuts off his defense with a sudden squeak.

“Merlin’s saggy dude boobs! Sorry, guys, but I gotta roll. I’ve got a date with Dorothy in forty minutes.”

“Dorothy?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised, “Isn’t that the girl you were talkin’ to at the sex ed party?”

Charlie grins at him. “Some of us see our dates for longer than just one night, Winchester,” she teases as she stands and slips on her shoes and coat.

“Charlie,” Dean says seriously, “Why would you keep eating just one kind of pie, day after day, when you could try all the different flavors of pie that are out there: apple, cherry, raspberry, lemon, coconut crème, chocolate, pumpkin…”

“Rhubarb,” Cas cuts in.

“Dude, no, not  _ rhubarb, _ ” Deans says, offended, before turning back to Charlie. “Strawberry, peach, pecan…”

“Later, losers,” Charlie calls on a laugh, the apartment door closing behind her.

Chuckling, Cas picks up his bag, “I should let you two get back to your game.”

“Actually, I gotta head out too,” Gabe says scooping up the Twizzler bag from the sofa and heading for the kitchen. “Charlie’s not the only one with a date tonight.”

“Not another drooler, I hope,” Dean jokes and Gabe grins.

“Oh, Kali’s definitely not a zombie. A sexy, Indian goddess is more like.”

“Isn’t Kali like, the Hindu goddess of destruction?” Dean asks. “Careful, dude, she might destroy you,” he teases with an eyebrow waggle.

“Oh fuck, I hope so,” Gabe says fervently before heading to his room to get ready for his date, leaving Cas and Dean alone.

He should probably leave. Cas just got home and wasn’t planning on having to entertain a guest, especially not  _ Dean _ of all people, the guy he’s been shooting down for the past week.

So, yeah, Dean should probably leave.

Or…

Unplugging Gabe’s PlayStation from the T.V., Dean swaps it out for the Nintendo Switch, before motioning to Cas as he queues up Mario Kart.

“C’mon, let’s play.”

“Dean, Gabe and Charlie told you I’m terrible at video games,” Cas argues uncertainly, though he’s already moving toward the sofa. “All of them.”

“C’mon, dude, anyone can play Mario Kart. Just give it a try.”

Thirty minutes and several races later, Gabe has left for his date and Dean has to admit, Cas was right, he’s  _ terrible  _ at video games. He falls sideways in laughter as Cas’ Yoshi spins out of control yet again, skittering across Rainbow Road.

“Okay, I concede. You really do suck.”

“Well, thank you,” Cas says sarcastically, tossing the controller on the ground. “I quit.”

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that, Cas,” Dean wheedles, picking the controller back up and using it to poke Cas in the ribs. “Just one more.”

Dean does his best to imitate Sammy’s epic puppy eyes as he looks at Cas, who relents with a sigh, “Fine. One more.” Yes! Thank you, pain-in-the-ass little brothers.

Watching Cas out of the corner of his eye as the finish line looms ahead, Dean lets his Princess Peach drift right into the oncoming path of the red turtle shell Cas just launched.

As Dean gets knocked out of the race, Cas surges past him to victory, still several places behind the computerized racers, but ahead of Dean.

“See?” Dean announces. “You’re getting better!”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Only because you let me win.”

“What? No. Okay, maybe,” Dean admits as Cas narrows his eyes disbelievingly.

He nudges Cas with an elbow. “Spending time with me ain’t so bad, is it?”

Dean’s surprised how nervous he actually is at the question. He’s gotten the distinct feeling the past couple of weeks that Cas doesn’t have the best impression of him.

Okay, he’s pretty sure that Cas thinks he’s just a superficial, cocky, shallow hockey player just looking to score and yeah, Dean can maybe see where he got that idea, especially since it’s the impression Dean usually  _ tries _ to give other people. But that’s people he doesn’t know, people he hasn’t actually spent any time with. The thought of Cas hanging out with Dean all afternoon and  _ still _ thinking that poorly of him just doesn’t sit right for some reason…and not just because it would probably seriously decrease Dean’s chances of getting Cas’ dick in his ass again.

Cas rolls his eyes and Dean’s stomach clenches. There it is then. Cas  _ does _ still think he’s just some piece-of-shit jock.

“I never doubted that I would enjoy our time together, Dean. On the contrary, I enjoyed our last encounter very much.” Cas hesitates, before admitting, “And I’ve enjoyed everything since.”

Dean feels hope balloon in his chest at those words.

“I just don’t do casual sex,” Cas finishes. “It’s just not something I can do. Nor is it something I  _ want _ to do.”

Aaaand the balloon deflates with sad little “ _ pfft.” _

“Okay, then,” Dean says, scratching the back of his neck. “So, you don’t do casual and I don’t date. Where does that leave us?”

Cas shrugs. “Friends?”

“Friends,” Dean tries out the word, slowly rolling it around in his mouth. “You think we can be  _ friends _ ?” Dean looks at Cas incredulously. Even from this distance, he can  _ feel _ the tension between them, the chemistry.

Dean may not have a lot of friends, but he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to want to run your tongue down their neck just so you can see what they taste like.

Cas shrugs. “I’m willing to try if you are.”

Please. Cas may say he wants to be friends now, but if he’s feeling even half of what Dean’s feeling, he gives it a week, two tops, before Cas is in his bed again, especially if Dean helps things along with some  _ friendly _ teasing.

“Okay, Cas,” he says with a smile. “Friends it is.”

Cas can tell by the glimmer in Dean’s eye that he’s not even remotely buying this whole “friends” idea and has no plans to stop his pursuit of Cas’ other…assets, but that suits his purposes just fine. As soon as Dean realizes that his charming smiles and sexy physique aren’t going to lure Cas back to his bed, he’ll drop Cas faster than one of his dude-bro teammates would drop the Women’s Studies course they thought would be a “great place to pick up chicks.”

And that’s fine.

That’s exactly what Cas wants to happen.

It’s…fine.

“Dude, why the frown? Sick of me already?” Dean jokes and does he look…nervous?

Shaking his head, Cas deflects. “Nothing, just tired I guess.” He’s interrupted by his stomach growling. “And hungry, apparently.”

“No wonder, man. It’s after seven. I should probably let you get some dinner.”

Dean is leaving? Without thinking, Cas blurts out, “Do you want to get some dinner? I mean, with me? Together.”

He fights the urge to crawl under the couch cushions. Oh yes, his just-be-friends -with-Dean plan is off to a great start.

“Really? Just the two of us? Kinda date-like, don’t you think?” Dean’s eyebrows raise. “Gotta say, Cas, I’m gettin’ some mixed signals here.”

He knows Dean is just teasing, but he rolls his eyes anyways. “I wasn’t exactly thinking candlelight and flowers. Just a burger at The Bunker. I’m fairly certain friends get burgers together, Dean.”

“The Bunker” had an actual name at one point, Cas is fairly certain, but most Forest Hill students have only ever known the popular basement-burger joint by its nickname.

“ _ I’m _ fairly certain some friends have sex together too,  _ Cas _ .”

That earns another eyeroll as Cas stands up to put on the shoes he’d kicked off while Dean was destroying him at Mario Kart.

“Are you coming or not?”

“Well, not—”

“Don’t answer that.” Leaning down, Cas cuts Dean off with a hand over his mouth.

He can feel Dean grinning under his hand as he waggles his eyebrows and Cas fights his own grin.

Insufferable.

As Cas lets go, Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I’m comin.’” Putting on their shoes and heavy coats to battle the bitter Midwestern wind (apparently Dean is capable of dressing sensibly some of the time), they make their way to Dean’s car, since he insists on driving.

The gleaming black muscle car stops Cas in his tracks. He doesn’t need to know anything about cars to know that this one is sex-on-wheels. Even with his FHU hoodie sticking out from underneath his heavy leather jacket, Dean’s sex appeal still doubles the moment he leans against the hood. Cas feels his mouth go dry and is suddenly glad his cheeks are already pink from the cold.

“You like?” Dean smirks.

Cas licks his already chapped lips, trying to look less affected by the scene before him than he is.

“It’s a nice car,” he acknowledges.

Dean’s mouth falls open.

“A nice c—” he cuts off, apparently too affronted to continue.

“A very nice car?” Cas amends innocently.

“Get in,” Dean orders gruffly, glaring at Cas as he points at the passenger door before sliding into the driver’s side of the sexiest vehicle Cas has ever seen.

“A nice car,” Dean grumbles as the turns the key in the ignition. “I oughtta make you walk.”

Cas hides a smile behind his gloved hand as they pull out of the parking lot.

An hour, two bacon cheeseburgers, and four beers later, they sit across from one another in a booth at The Bunker. They casually snag French fries and onion rings from one another’s plates, having finally agreed to share after a lively debate about which is the superior side dish (Dean is still wrong, onion rings far outstrip the more pedestrian French fry).

“I’m stuffed,” Dean finally says, leaning back against the green pleather booth-seat and sighing contentedly, hand resting on his stomach. “Good call, Cas.”

“Not too, ‘date-like’ for you then?” Cas teases, eyeing Dean’s hand on his bloated belly.

“Hey pal, ‘friends’ don’t get my best manners. It’s not like I’ve got any reason to try and impress you, right?”

“Ah, so you do  _ have _ manners? Funny, I don’t remember a lot of those from the night we met, either,” Cas lies, remembering distinctly the way Dean held the door for him as they entered his apartment building.

They’re interrupted by the sudden appearance of a rather large-chested young woman with a  _ very _ low-cut red top and bottle-blonde hair.

“You’re Dean Winchester, right? The hockey player?”

Grinning up at the buxom girl, Dean answers, “That’s me. You a hockey fan?”

“I could be,” the not-blonde purrs seductively, leaning forward with her palms on the table, clearly wanting to make sure that what are certainly her best personality traits are well-displayed. “I could be whatever you want me to be if you come buy me a drink.”

Dean’s eyes drift to the woman’s cleavage and Cas can’t blame him. Even  _ he’s _ looking, if only out of concern for the three different public decency statutes that are about to be violated if that young woman so much as sneezes right now.

After a moment, he clears his throat and looks at Cas, who tries to force his face into something more neutral than a grimace as he nods and gives Dean a “go ahead,” gesture.

Dean meets the girl’s hazel eyes as he says, “I’m flattered, really, but I’m kinda out with a friend tonight.”

Shooting Cas an appraising look as he takes a sip of his beer, the girl looks back at Dean with smirk, “Your friend can come too, if he wants.”

Cas chokes on his beer as Dean belts out a boisterous laugh and tosses him a napkin.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. You’re not his type.”

The girl bounces away, clearly offended, as Cas dabs at his long-sleeved gray Henley. “You’re welcome to go buy her that drink, Dean,” he offers, even though it costs him something to do so. “I may not engage in casual hook-ups, but it doesn’t mean I begrudge other people the same.”

“Nah,” Dean waves away the suggestion. “I’m not really in the mood. Besides, I’m pretty sure bailing on your friends to get laid is considered a dick move in most circles.”

As Cas sets down the napkin, Dean adds, “What’s that about anyway? Your no hook-ups thing,” he clarifies at Cas’ questioning look. “Someone give you crabs as a freshman or something?”

“Um, no,” Cas clears his throat, “Nothing like that. I just think sex is more enjoyable when I have a connection with someone. Otherwise it’s just basically…scratching an itch.”

As Dean’s forehead scrunches in confusion, he explains, “Sure, the sensations are pleasurable, but not any more so than what I can achieve on my own, from the comfort of my own room with a lot less hassle, no awkward goodbyes, and enough time left over to watch a couple episodes of  _ The Office _ before bed.”

Dean’s mouth falls open in shock before he responds, “Well, damn Cas. Scratching an itch? Way to boost a guy’s ego.”

Cas rolls his eyes, something he finds himself doing a lot around Dean. “First of all, I don’t think your  _ ego _ needs any help, and second,” Cas shifts awkwardly in the booth seat, focusing on peeling the label off his beer so he can avoid Dean’s eyes, “That doesn’t apply to you.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Dean grins. “’Cause I gotta tell ya, that was some of the best sex I’ve had in a really long time.”

“Me too,” Cas admits shyly, pulling his eyes up to meet Dean’s, warm and shining and still so green. “And I’m not sure who that says more about, you or my ex.”

Dean tosses his head back and laughs before asking, “So, I’m guessing this must be the infamous ‘Derek’ Charlie and Gabe seemed so fond of earlier. How long were you guys together?”

“Eighteen months,” Cas answers, picking at his Corona label again.

“I take it things didn’t end well.”

“He stole my app, my future job, and kicked me out of our shared apartment,” Cas says flatly, giving Dean a very abridged version of his relationship history as he drags a finger through the condensation on his beer.

He and Derek had interned together at the Chicago headquarters of Sandover Industries. While it wasn’t exactly glamorous work, Sandover was an internationally known company and would look excellent on the resumés of two computer programmers from a tiny university much better known for its engineering programs than its computer science one. Living together and sharing the expenses of both their apartment and the commute had just made sense, especially given the new logistics app they’d been designing together. It had the potential to really streamline project management at a large company like Sandover, connecting the dots between the company’s often siloed development, production, and sustainment branches.

Cas had been shocked when Sandover had offered him a contract at the end of the summer, guaranteeing him a full-time position after graduation in May. He’d signed immediately and had started his senior year thinking he had it all: a committed, long-term relationship, a soon-to-be four-year degree, and the job of his—okay, maybe not of his dreams, but at least of his practical, daytime ponderings. And he did have it all…for six weeks. Until that day mid-October when Cas had received a call from Zachariah Fuller, an HR representative from Sandover, letting him know that his contract with the company had been rescinded and helpfully reminding him of the probationary period, allowing Cas to be let go without cause. Apparently another candidate had just completely blown them away. Zachariah was calling Cas as a “courtesy,” deciding it would “kinder” for him to hear the news from a person before his pink slip arrived in the mail. And arrive it did, two days later, along with a much thicker Sandover envelope…addressed to Derek.

Cas hadn’t needed to confront Derek, hadn’t even really needed to open Derek’s job offer and see the contract with his boyfriend’s name and Sandover’s logo at the top to know what had happened. Jealous of Cas’ job offer, Derek had taken their app to Sandover without him and traded it for Castiel’s job. He’d sold out their eighteen-month relationship for an entry-level programming position at a heartless corporation.

Honestly, that’s probably what hurt the worst. If Derek had stolen the app and sold it for some ridiculous amount of money or landed himself a prestigious, upper-level position somewhere, Cas would have still been hurt, obviously, but perhaps he could have understood the temptation. Maybe. But no, after eighteen months, Cas rated lower in his boyfriend’s eyes than a middling position as a corporate nobody. Derek hadn’t even bothered to deny it. Instead, he’d just shrugged as he told Cas it was “just business” and that he’d been thinking about his future. Apparently, Cas had been the only one thinking about  _ their  _ future.

Dean’s low whistle pulls him back to the present. “Shit, Cas. Guess I’ll cancel that fruit basket. What a dick.”

Cas hums in agreement as their server drops off their checks.

“Well,” Dean starts as he drops enough cash on the table to cover his check and leave a decent tip for their waitress, “I’m pretty sure what our night together says about your ex is that he was an asshole who didn’t deserve you and deep down, some part of you always knew it.”

Dean stands up, pocketing his wallet and grinning at Cas, “What it says about  _ me _ , is that I’m just really good at sex.”

When they arrive back at Cas’ apartment, Dean offers to walk him up to his apartment, but Cas refuses. They say goodbye in Dean’s car as he idles outside of the building’s front doors, but still, Cas lingers, his hand on the door handle. Neither of them seems to want to say a final goodnight.

“Thanks again, Cas,” Dean says softly. “I really had a good time today.”

“So did I,” Cas admits. “Even the video games were enjoyable.”

The light of the moon casts shadows across the muscle car’s dashboard and Cas is suddenly struck by the memory of Dean’s face, tipped back in pleasure and bathed in moonlight streaming through his bedroom window.

He swallows, drawing his eyes up to meet Dean’s.

Whatever Dean sees there must embolden him, because he leans forward slightly as he asks, “So, based on our conversation earlier, I’m gonna guess you don’t put out on the first date, but uh, how do you feel about kissing?”

Letting himself be drawn in by Dean’s impossible gravity, Cas murmurs, “Favorable. Definitely favorable,” before leaning back abruptly, winking at him. “Too bad this isn’t a date.”

Dean’s surprised laughter follows him out of the car into the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who do you think is going to win this battle of wills? Or rather, which one is going to cave first? 😂


	5. Chapter 5

Some nights, before he even steps onto the ice, Dean can tell it’s going to be a good game. Tonight is one of those nights. He smiles to himself as he adjusts his dark green Hunters’ away jersey before strapping on his helmet.

It’s their second night of back-to-back games against the Omaha Mavericks and with a solid 5-0 win the night before and a stellar practice this afternoon, Dean’s got no doubts about their ability to wipe the floor with the Nebraska team.

That’s not what makes it a good game though. What makes it a good game is that they’re playing it in Omaha, Nebraska, which is just a short, one hour’s drive away from Lincoln, home to the Roadhouse. The restaurant and bar is owned by Dean’s not-quite-aunt, Ellen Harvelle, and was his second home for most of his adolescence. Grinning broadly, Dean spots Ellen, Sam, and six-year-old Jo sitting halfway up the visitor’s seats in Baxter Arena. Well, Ellen and Sam are sitting, anyway. Jo’s jumping up and down, waving frantically at Dean while her long, blonde ponytail bobs behind her.

Chuckling, Dean waves back. He always plays his best when he’s got Jo and Sammy watching. Less than three minutes into the first period, when Dean intercepts a pass from the Maverick’s center and hands it off to Victor to help the Hunters score the first point of the evening, he knows his intuition was right. It’s going to be a great game.

Three periods and four goals later, Dean’s proven right once and for all when the final buzzer sounds and the Hunters walk away with another win. This win isn’t quite as impressive as last night’s shut-out, maybe, but still, 4-2 ain’t nothing to sneeze at, especially since it secures the Hunters a spot in the NCHC playoffs in a few weeks. Granted, that doesn’t keep Coach Singer form hollering at all of them in the locker room afterwards, calling them debutants and telling them not to go and start thinking they know their asses from a hockey puck just because they managed not to fuck up for two games in a row. He’s fighting a smile as he says it though, so Dean knows he’s proud.

His shower-damp hair quickly freezing in the late Omaha winter’s air, Dean heads out into the darkened parking lot where three very pink-cheeked faces are waiting to greet him, all wearing smiles just as wide as his own. He moves in to hug Ellen first but doesn’t make it before six-years’ worth of piss and vinegar bounds into his arms.

“Dean! Dean! Dean!” Jo screams excitedly, as Dean catches her and (mostly) pretends to stagger under her weight.

“Damn, Jo. How much  _ have _ you grown since Christmas? You’re gonna be as tall as Sammy, soon.”

Bouncing in Dean’s arms, Jo rolls her eyes. She’d looked like she was drooping toward the end of the third period, but clearly she’s got her second wind, the victim of sugar overload and an extended bedtime, no doubt.

“I’m not _ that _ tall, doofus. I’m only a three on the chart. Sammy’s even taller than a  _ six _ .” Her voice is solemn, as if being “taller than a six” on the height chart hanging in the Harvelle kitchen is quite the accomplishment.

Looking at Sam, Dean thinks she’s not wrong. Kid looks taller every time Dean sees him and he outstripped Dean’s own not inconsiderable 6’2” last year.

“Yeah, well, that’s cause Sam’s half-giant. Like Hagrid.”

Sam makes a face, but Dean just tosses him a wink. Teasing his little brother will never get old, no matter how much taller than him Sam gets.

Jo’s giggles are cut off by Ellen’s sharp tone as she asks, “Joanna Beth, what did I tell you about name callin’?”

“But I was just  _ kidding _ ,” Jo protests defiantly, before wilting under Ellen’s darkening glare. “Sorry, Dean,” she mumbles petulantly.

Dean ruffles her hair, “It’s alright, short stack, but listen to your mom. She’s scary.” He stage whispers the last part, which gets a giggle from Jo and a twitch of the lips from Ellen.

“Hey, Ell,” Dean says warmly, leaning over to kiss his pseudo-aunt hello while Jo continues to cling to him like a baby spider monkey.

“You did good, kid,” Ellen praises, giving Dean’s arm a squeeze.

“Thanks,” he answers with a soft smile. Maybe by his age, Dean shouldn’t need the approval of his family so much, but he can’t help it. The three people in front of him mean everything to Dean. There’s not a damn thing in this world he wouldn’t do for any one of them.

In fact, they’re the whole reason Dean never really considered trying to play hockey professionally. Living life on the road like that, constantly on the move…sure, there’s something appealing about it, he supposes. After all, there’s not much Dean loves more than a good road trip in his baby. At the end of the day though, it just reminds him too much of the way he and Sam grew up, moving from state-to-state and most often, motel-to-motel, with their dad. Always on to the next town, the next job, the next unwary employer who’d be willing to take a chance on a sober, charming John Winchester, not realizing that in three weeks’ time he’d be replaced with a belligerent, unreliable drunk.

The best thing John had ever done for his boys was leave them with his old friends, Bill and Ellen. Dean had been twelve that last time John drove away, Sam eight. Aside from sporadic postcards and even more sporadic visits, John had been pretty much out of the picture ever since. The Harvelles had given the Winchesters the first settled home they’d known since Mary Winchester had died in a house fire when Sam was just six months old. Hell, Bill’s even the one who got Dean into hockey in the first place. 

Having experienced both life on the road and life with roots, Dean knows which one he prefers. Plus, there’s Sam to think about. Dean’s been away from his little brother long enough. Leaving Sam to go to school was never a part of Dean’s plans. Hell, college wasn’t supposed to be in the cards at all for Dean. That was supposed to be Sam’s thing. He’s the brainiac of the family and Dean had been saving up money for years to send him to Omaha. Sure, the University of Nebraska might not be glamorous, but it’s a state school, which means more affordable tuition than most and Sam would do well there, Dean’s sure. But when his own senior year had rolled around and he’d tried to tell Bill and Ellen that he was just planning to apply for a job at the local canning plant, they wouldn’t hear of it.

“Dean, you rebuilt your dad’s old car in six months. And that thing had been sittin’ there, rustin’ out behind the garage for years. You don’t just ignore that kind of talent, son. You only get so many gifts in this life. I’m not about to let you waste yours.”

So, Dean did the only thing he could. He signed on with the first school willing to give him a hockey scholarship. Unfortunately, that school was in freaking  _ Illinois _ , so that meant that for the past four years, his time with Sam has been limited to summers, holidays, and the rare evening like the one ahead of them.

“Alright, young lady, time to get you home,” Ellen says warmly, pulling a protesting, but clearly sleepy Jo from Dean’s arms, her sugar rush quickly fading into a sugar crash. “Bill says hi, sweetie, and have a safe trip home.” She pecks Dean on the cheek as he wraps strong arms around both her and Jo, squeezing them tight. “He woulda come with, but—”

“You can’t close The Roadhouse down on a Saturday night. That’s like, financial suicide for a bar, Ellen. I get it,” Dean assures her, dropping his own kiss against her auburn hair.

“Sam, you call me when you’re on your way home, you hear? I don’t care how late it is,” Ellen calls out behind her as she buckles Jo into the back seat of the family Buick.

“I will,” Sam promises as Dean claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder. This is what he’s been waiting all night for.

It’s not long before he and Sam are seated at a booth in one of Omaha’s twenty-four-hour diners, snacking on cheese fries and bad coffee.

He asks Sam about school and after Sam bores him with a ten-minute update on his AP Economics class, he asks him more specifically about the  _ girls _ at school. Sam flushes and Dean grins. Now they’re talking.

“There somethin’ you wanna tell me, Sam? Who is she? Is she cute? Is she smart? I mean, she definitely can’t be both if she’s goin’ out with you,” he teases.

Sam clears his throat. “Her name’s Madison and she’s pretty  _ and _ smart. Just because you can only land someone whose IQ has fewer points than your goal stats doesn’t mean I can’t do better,” Sam fires back and shit, Dean’s proud of him, not that he’d let  _ Sam  _ know that, of course.

“Hardy, har, har,” he retorts, which sure, isn’t a great comeback, but Dean’s  _ tired _ , okay? “How does she feel about her boyfriend havin’ prettier hair than she does? Do you guys give each other styling tips?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Playin’ the field, Sammy? Didn’t think you had it in ya.” Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise as he takes a sip of coffee.

Leveling him with a  _ classic _ Sam Winchester bitchface (damn Dean misses those), Sam retorts, “Do you mean am I a giant man-whore like you? No. I just don’t wanna start anything serious right now, with graduation coming up, you know?”

“Is she goin’ away to school then?” Dean asks.

Sam shifts awkwardly in his seat before answering, “Madison’s going to KU, but—”

“Well, that’s not too far then,” Dean says easily. “You guys could still see each other on weekends.” Suddenly, another thought occurs to him.

“Hey, have you heard back from Omaha yet? You applied right?”

“Yeah, I applied,” Sam answers reluctantly, “and no, I haven’t heard back yet, but Dean—”

Whatever Sam was going to say is cut off by the arrival of their waitress, bearing a thick slice of coconut crème pie for Dean and a vanilla milkshake for Sam.

“That looks awesome. Thanks, Wendy,” Dean winks at the middle-aged waitress, who blushes before she tells them to enjoy and hurries away.

“Man,” Dean says as he swallows a bite of his pie, “this is delicious. Can you believe Cas has never had a crème pie? And I don’t mean  _ that _ kind, you sicko,” he adds at Sam’s disgusted face. “Like coconut crème, chocolate crème, lemon meringue. Never.”

Looking at him thoughtfully over the rim of his milkshake glass, Sam says casually, “You know, that’s like the fifth time you’ve mentioned this  _ Cas _ . There somethin’  _ you _ wanna tell  _ me _ ?” He leans back in his seat with a smug grin.

Dean pauses. He hasn’t been talking about Cas  _ that  _ much tonight, has he? Sure, he told Sam about their Mario Kart adventure, which led to him having to tell Sam how he met Cas in the first place (in very broad, unsexy, not at all detailed terms, since it was the very beginning of their evening and as tempting as it was to scar his little brother for life, the last thing he wanted to deal with all night was a pissy Sam Winchester). And he may have told Sam about how Cas and Charlie both like the Harry Potter series almost as much as Sam does since they’re all giant nerds like that. Oh, and Dean definitely mentioned that time he and Cas walked into Cas’ apartment only to hear enough coming from Gabe’s bedroom to know that he and Kali are apparently still seeing each other and that Cas’ roommate has some  _ very _ interesting (if unsurprising, because  _ Gabe _ ) bedroom habits.

Okay, so maybe he’s mentioned Cas a  _ few _ times. It certainly doesn’t warrant Sam looking at him like  _ that. _

“Pfft,” Dean says dismissively, “Of course not, Sam. We hooked up once, that’s all. You know me better than that.”

“Yeah, I do, and I’ve never heard you go on about a hook-up like this before. He sounds like a pretty great guy though, from everything you’ve told me,” Sam reasons. “Why not go out with him?” Sam looks at him so earnestly that for a moment Dean actually wants to entertain the question. But no, half the reason Dean can’t actually date Cas is sitting right in front of him.

“Well, for one thing,” Dean starts, “I don’t date. And for another,” he adds, holding up a finger when Sam opens his mouth to argue, “I wouldn’t wanna start anything serious right now, with graduation comin’ up and all.” Dean shoots Sam a victorious smirk.

“What are his plans for after graduation?”

Dean hesitates. “I don’t really know,” he admits. “I think he’s still figuring it out.”

He’s learned a bit more about what happened between Cas and his ex in the weeks since their not-a-date at The Bunker, enough to know that Cas doesn’t have the first clue what he’s going to do come May…and enough to know that Derek never wants to run into Dean in a dark alley. He’d been half-ready to go after the guy on campus, but Charlie had assured him that it’s “taken care of.” Dean didn’t ask what she meant. For one thing, he didn’t think she’d tell him and for another, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. All she shared was that within six months of starting his shiny new job at Sandover, Derek was going to “reap the consequences of his totally foul deeds.”

“And you?” Sam asks, the same way he does every time he and Dean talk lately, like a dog with a goddamn bone.

Dean sighs. “You know what I’m doin’ after graduation, Sam. I’m gonna come home to Nebraska. Maybe get a job in Omaha…or Lincoln.”

“Doing what, Dean? Working at some factory engineering tractor parts or something?”

“Hey,” Dean protests, “there are other things a mechanical engineer can do out there and even if there’s not, what’s wrong with tractors, huh?”

“Nothing, if that’s what you want, but…did you even apply for that job listing I sent you for Boeing? You could build  _ airplanes _ , Dean! You can’t tell me that doesn’t appeal to you more than designing a new combine.”

“I think you have a pretty skewed idea of what an engineer does, man. It ain’t exactly glamorous, most of the time. Even if you’re workin’ on an airplane, it’s one tiny part of the plane, Sam. It’s not like I’m gonna be Wilbur Wright, designing a brand new plane from start to finish. May as well be a tractor.”

“Still, though, that’s  _ if _ you can even manage to get a job in Nebraska. When I Googled mechanical engineering jobs near the Boeing headquarters, you know how many came up? Almost five hundred. Guess how many there are in Omaha right now. Twenty-seven.”

Dean winces. He doesn’t need to guess and he doesn’t need Sammy’s Googling skills. He’s well aware of the twenty-seven Omaha jobs, having already applied for all of them with no calls for interviews.

“Relax, Sam. I’ll find something. I always do.”

Sighing, Sam gives it one more shot. “Did you even apply for the Boeing job?”

Dean thinks about the phone interview he had with Boeing right after Christmas and the as of yet unopened envelope still sitting on his kitchen counter.

“Yeah, I applied for the Boeing job, Sammy, but it’s in Virginia, man, right outside of DC. Cost of living is insane out there and I wouldn’t even know anyone in the area. Besides,” he smirks at his little brother, “if I’m all the way out on the East Coast, who’s gonna keep you in line?”

Sam’s face loses some of its fire.

“Look, Dean—”

“Drop it, Sam,” Dean says firmly. “I mean it.”

“Fine,” Sam acquiesces, bitchface firmly in place. “I still think you’re wrong though, about the job  _ and _ Cas. You  _ like _ this guy, Dean, which is kind of a big deal for you.”

Throwing his hands up at Dean’s glare, Sam adds, “Yeah, yeah, I know. Backing off. Whether things go anywhere with Cas or not though, I’m glad you’ve made some friends. Cas, Charlie, Gabe…they all sound really great.”

Friends?

Dean blinks. He hadn’t really thought about it that way. He’s known Gabe for years through their…business arrangement, of course, but Dean supposes they have been hanging out a lot more these days, playing video games, watching reruns of old shows like  _ Futurama  _ and  _ The Office. _ And Charlie, well, he dares anyone to try  _ not _ being friends with Charlie Bradbury after she decides to adopt them.

And sure, he’s  _ friends _ with Cas, but that’s all part of his game plan to land Cas’ hot ass back in his bed again, and as much as Dean likes hanging out with the guy, that plan is definitely still in effect. Granted, it’s taking a bit longer than Dean anticipated, but hey, the anticipation will just make the payoff that much sweeter, right? And, oh, the anticipation.

He takes every opportunity he can to tease and tempt the sexy computer nerd. He thought Cas was gonna swallow his tongue the first time Dean found him at the gym, wearing his favorite Led Zeppelin band shirt from high school, the one that’s just a little too tight on him these days, stretching tight against the muscles of his chest and shoulders, and asking Cas if he needed someone to spot for him.

After that, they somehow ended up working out together twice a week. It wasn’t long before Dean realized the flaw in his seduce-Cas-at-the-gym plan. The flaw being, of course, that this means seeing Cas  _ at the gym _ , wiping the sweat from his forehead and neck with a towel, bending over in front of Dean to pick up his next set of weights, muscles bulging as he lifts a frankly impressive number of heavy things. The first time Dean saw Cas on leg day, he thought he was going to have a stroke. There’s no way that bastard didn’t wear those snug workout shorts on purpose. Who the fuck wears shorts like that to the gym in  _ February? _ Of course, that’s still better than the infamous Day of the Gray Sweatpants. Dean normally despises the treadmill, but he’d run on one every goddamn day if it meant getting to watch Cas do the same.

Still though, even without the gray sweatpants and the thighs that could crack Dean’s skull like a watermelon, the dude’s still pretty cool to hang out with. Goofy, funny (sometimes on purpose, sometimes not), and oddly adorable, Cas’s personality definitely isn’t what Dean would expect from someone who looks like  _ that. _ Most of the time, Cas seems completely unaware of his impossibly good looks (except, of course, when he’s wielding said good looks like a weapon, one aimed directly at Dean’s dick) and it’s endearing as fuck.

Would you look at that, Dean thinks with no small sense of wonder, he has  _ friends _ . And an obnoxious, nosey little brother with an intuition that’s way too sharp for Dean’s own good.

“Yeah, well,” he deflects gruffly, kicking Sam under the diner table, “there had to be somebody out there besides you willing to put up with me, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam retorts automatically, rolling his eyes fondly as he slurps the rest of his milkshake.

Pulling off his gloves, Cas rubs his chilled hands together as he enters the dining hall. Even almost halfway through March, the wind is still bitterly cold this close to Lake Michigan, but at least the snows that rolled in with the new month have melted.

He’s carrying his tray across the cafeteria when he sees Dean sitting at a table with several of his teammates.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean beams at him and Cas fights not to blush under the curious looks the other Hunters are giving the two of them, “We still on for tonight?”

“Of course, Dean,” he smiles. In fact, he’s really looking forward to their movie night with Charlie and Gabe this evening, even if he is a little nervous about being back in Dean’s apartment again. How he’s supposed to focus on a movie with Dean next to him, in the very living room they stumbled through as they drunkenly made out and pawed at one another’s clothes before having the best sex of Cas’ young life, is beyond him. But still, it means hanging out with Dean and as much as it pains him to admit, Cas will take absolutely any opportunity to hang out with the gorgeous, freckled, sweet, still infuriating man across from him, especially with Dean’s time being so limited now between the increase in his grounds crew hours thanks to the early March snows and his busy practice schedule with the playoffs approaching

His plan to bore Dean into moving on hasn’t been as quickly successful as he’d anticipated (apparently Dean is even more stubborn than Cas gave him credit for, which is saying something), but he’s certain Dean will grow tired of his endless, failed attempts to seduce Cas any day now. He swallows down the pang that causes deep in his gut. Until then, though, there’s no harm in enjoying Dean’s company…or the eye candy he presents. In the weeks since they met, Dean has proven himself to be, yes, cocky and sometimes downright obnoxious, but also kind, intelligent, and thoughtful as well.

“You gonna introduce us to your friend, Dean?” Asks one of the other hockey players clustered around the table.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Dean answers sheepishly. “Cas, this is Victor, Gordon, and Roy. Guys, this is Cas.”

Squinting at Cas, Gordon asks, “Where’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you used to go out with that tall, skinny guy?”

Cas starts in surprise, though maybe he shouldn’t. While he and Derek hadn’t engaged in any on-campus PDA, they were frequently seen around campus together and made no secret of the fact they were dating. On a campus like theirs, an openly gay couple does tend to attract a certain amount of attention, though mainly just whispers and aborted stares.

“We’re not together anymore,” he answers abruptly.

Gordon claps Dean on the back. “Guess that explains why you’re talkin’ to Winchester then. Knew you liked a little sausage with your eggs sometimes, Winchester,” Gordon smirks at Dean, clearly finding his own vulgar remark clever, “but I thought you kept that shit off-campus. Unless this is something serious? I haven’t seen you leave the bar with a girl in weeks. You finally decide to settle down and let someone make an honest woman outta you?”

Dean frowns and Cas doesn’t miss the tightness in his posture. He’s not sure which Dean’s taking more offense to, the thinly veiled, casual homophobia or the personal insults to his character. Cas is pissed at all of it, of course, and even though he’s a person rarely moved to violence, he’s never wanted to hit someone quite as badly as he wants to punch Gordon Walker in his smug, bigoted face.

He’s the worst kind of bigot, the kind who thinks he’s all enlightened, because look at him, he has a gay friend. He’s not afraid of no “homos.” He jokes around with the one queer person he knows all the time…except he never stops to make sure that person is in on the joke and Cas is certain if Dean ever told him he wasn’t comfortable with Gordon’s “humor,” the assbutt would probably tell him to stop being so sensitive and then follow it up with some crack comparing Dean to a woman.

So, he’s quite surprised when Dean’s posture suddenly relaxes and he leans back in his seat, tossing his own dark smirk back at Gordon. “Don’t get jealous, Walker,” he says with a wink at his scowling teammate, “Cas already shot me down. We’re just friends.”

Next to Gordon, Victor laughs. “Well, at least we know Cas has good taste.”

The tension in the room somewhat diffused, Cas tells Dean he’ll see him later and makes a hasty retreat to the opposite side of the room. He’s a little surprised Dean didn’t admit to his teammates that they’ve already slept together. And to admit that Cas rejected him?

Those thoughts however, are secondary to the primary one running through Cas’ mind. Dean hasn’t taken a girl home in…weeks? He tries desperately to convince himself that the coincidence has nothing to do with him, but his heart thumps traitorously anyway.

Shit. If he thought not sleeping with Dean would keep him from falling for the green-eyed hockey player, apparently he was wrong.

Several hours later, freshly showered and wearing the same button-up he had on the night he met Dean (Dean’s not the only one who can tease, he reasons), though, without the sweater vest, Cas swallows as he knocks on the apartment door. He’s a little early, but he’d decided he’d rather have a chance to acclimate to being back in Dean’s apartment  _ before _ being under the watchful eyes of their far-too-observant friends.

Of course, what he’d neglected to consider until this very moment was the fact that this would mean he and Dean will be  _ alone _ in Dean’s apartment.

Coming here was probably a terrible idea.

When Dean opens the door to his apartment wearing nothing but a white bath towel, Cas is completely shocked that he manages to remain standing, especially with the way he goes suddenly light-headed as all the blood in his top half rushes south. As he stares dumbly at Dean, blinking, a slow smirk spreads across the hockey player’s features.

“Hey, Cas,” he greets smugly. “You’re early. Sorry, I just got outta the shower.” He steps back enough to let Cas through… _ just _ enough to let Cas through, ensuring that their shoulders brush in the process.

Cas walks through the door, stepping into the apartment’s small living room and trying desperately not to remember the way he’d kissed Dean in this very spot the night they’d met.

Glancing around the rest of the apartment, he focuses instead on taking in the details he hadn’t had time to notice while drunkenly stumbling into it…and then hungover-ly stumbling out of it the first time around. It matches the décor of pretty much every other college apartment he’s ever been in: a tiny space with flat paint and threadbare carpet that boasts a broken down sofa in a garish floral pattern, a small secondhand dinette with mismatched chairs, and a barely standing entertainment center…which holds a pristine sixty-inch flat screen television with two different gaming consoles hooked up to it.

“Here, lemme give you the grand tour, since we were a little too busy last time.” Dean winks, moving past Cas toward the center of the living room.

“Kitchen.” He points past where Cas is standing, to the tiny kitchen with its yellowing linoleum and faded floral wallpaper, before holding his arms out and spinning around slowly.

“Living Room.”

Cas doesn’t hope the towel will slip. He  _ doesn’t. _

“And this way,” Dean calls as he walks toward the short hallway at the far end of the living room, motioning over his shoulder for Cas to follow, “we have the bathroom and, of course, the bedroom which you  _ may  _ remember from your last visit to Casa de Winchester.”

Cas drags his eyes away from the way Dean’s ass flexes underneath the towel as he walks, which really isn’t helpful since they just move to staring at the way Dean’s  _ back _ flexes as he walks, and somehow manages to half-heartedly snark, “But Dean, it’s so big. How will I find my way around?”

“That’s what she said,” Dean turns around and smirks at Cas’ answering eye roll as he backs into his bedroom and now Cas  _ knows  _ this was a terrible idea.

He’s about to be in Dean’s bedroom…where Dean is…along with Dean’s bed, which Cas has  _ very _ fond memories of and oh yeah, Dean’s  _ still not wearing any clothes. _

_ I am  _ not _ going to sleep with him, _ Cas tells himself firmly.

He’s not certain, but if the responding throb in his groin area is any indication, he thinks his dick may be planning a coup.

Standing in the doorway of Dean’s bedroom, Cas licks his lips, eyes darting nervously between the various band posters Dean has hanging on his walls, none of which, Cas is fairly certain, correspond to current bands. The only one he actually recognizes is the Pink Floyd poster with a number of the band’s album covers painted on the nude backs of six female models.

Of course, as aesthetically and objectively lovely as the ladies in the poster are, they have nothing on the broad shoulders and muscled back of the poster’s owner, now  _ bent over _ as he rummages through the dresser on the far side of the room.

Cas grips the doorframe with both hands. He has never in his life both wanted to be and  _ not  _ wanted to be in the same place so badly. He’s Schrödinger’s penis.

“Aha,” Dean says, seemingly oblivious to Cas’ existential sexual crisis as he pulls out a crumpled AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of black gym shorts. To Cas’ immense relief and immeasurable dismay, he pulls the shirt on over his head, before shimmying the shorts up under the towel, which is pretty much exactly when Cas’ heart stops beating.

Because Dean put on gym shorts. Dean put on gym shorts but  _ did not _ put on anything  _ under _ the gym shorts.

So now, not only does he get to try to focus on watching a movie while sitting next to Dean, in Dean’s apartment, remembering the blissed out expression on Dean’s face as Cas fucked him into the very mattress  _ Dean is now sitting on, _ he gets to do it all with the knowledge that Dean is currently going commando.

Yep. Terrible. Idea.

“Cas? You alright there, buddy?” Dean asks, a concerned expression on his face.

“Pizza,” Cas blurts out nonsensically. “I mean, we should go ahead and order the pizzas, for when Gabe and Charlie get here.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean agrees slowly, still eyeing Cas the way one might eye an unfamiliar and possibly rabid animal. He pats the bed next to him as he grabs his phone off the nearby desk and begins searching for the number of the pizza place around the corner. “Pop a squat. You can toss your bag wherever.”

Reflexively, Cas does as asked, tossing his bag onto Dean’s mattress as he settles himself gingerly on the edge of the bed. The bag immediately tips over, spilling its contents across the comforter. Dean spins on the mattress, trying to catch the bag as it falls, but barely manages to slow the flood of pens, pencils, highlighters, and post-its that tumble out of the internal pockets. As Cas rights the bag, Dean begins to pick up the various writing implements, hands freezing suddenly as they happen upon a small, folded piece of what looks to be brown cardboard.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

“Dean, give me that.”

“Caaaaas, what’s this?” Dean asks with a smirk, holding up the very familiar shape of a carboard coffee cup sleeve, with blocky black lettering on the side.

“Dean—”

“You kept my number,” Dean accuses gleefully, waving the scrap of cardboard just out of Cas’ reach. “You said you threw it away.”

“I meant to,” Cas defends. “I was planning on it.”

“Oh nooooo,” Dean drawls out, grinning ear-to-ear. “If you were gonna throw it away, it’d still be on the cup. But no, you deliberately took it  _ off _ the cup, folded it up oh-so-neatly, and tucked it away in your bag for safe-keeping.”

“Dean, shut up and give me that,” Cas growls and Dean bounces up to his knees playfully.

“Make me,” Dean challenges, a glint in his eye as he holds out the cardboard scrap containing his phone number tauntingly.

Narrowing his eyes, Cas darts his hand out in a (futile) attempt to snatch the cup cozy and Dean laughs.

“Gonna have to do better than that, computer boy.”

Lunging at Dean, Cas has a moment to appreciate the way Dean’s eyes widen in surprise before he reacts on instinct, grabbing Cas by the arms and pulling him down toward the mattress, using his momentum to roll both of them over until Dean is on top, straddling Cas’ hips. The less than graceful maneuver results in Cas’ flailing feet knocking several things off the top of Dean’s desk, but neither of them seem to notice, both acutely aware of their new position.

Cas licks his lips, noting the way Dean’s eyes track the movement and  _ shit _ , Dean has to get off of him right fucking now or he’s going to know exactly how hot Cas just found that little display.

“Dean,” he pants, “you have—” Cas cuts off as an assortment of colorful objects littering the ground catch his eye, having fallen out of a shoe box he’d accidentally sent toppling a moment ago.

“—ponies?”

“What?” Dean’s eyes first narrow in confusion, then widen in sudden, horrified understanding as he sees where Cas’ gaze is focused.

“Shit,” he curses gruffly, jumping off Cas as if burned and dropping swiftly to the ground, attempting to sweep the entire, incriminating lot of what look like, Cas leans closer, yes, My Little Ponies, back into the nondescript Nike box.

“Dean,” Cas begins carefully as he sits up on the edge of the bed. “Are you a…Brony?”

“What? No!” Dean barks. “I…no. I’m not a fuckin’ Brony. Jesus.”

“Okay,” Cas agrees in what they both know is a don’t-provoke-the-crazy-Brony tone, “then why do you have a collection of My Little Pony dolls…in your bedroom?”

“I have the ponies because of Jo. And they’re in the bedroom because that’s where my computer is.”

Eyes widening in near-alarm, Cas dares to ask, “And is ‘Joe’ a fellow Brony?”

“What? No, man! Jo’s not a brony. Jo’s a six-year-old girl. My kid sister!” Dean exclaims loudly, rushing to correct what would have certainly been a  _ very _ disastrous misunderstanding.

“I thought you had a younger brother,” Cas asks because of course,  _ that’s _ what’s important here.

“I do. Jo’s more like my adopted sister. Look,” Dean explains, running a weary hand over his face, “it’s a long story, but Jo’s mom and dad kinda half-raised me and Sammy. We lived with ’em and everything, from back before Jo was even born.”

Dean moves back to the bed, sitting the open box between them. The box, Cas now realizes, is the same one Dean was carrying outside of his and Gabe’s apartment all those weeks ago.  _ This _ is what he’s been buying from Gabe?

“Jo wasn’t quite three when I left for college. She was devastated, man. We were really close and she was too little to understand why I was leavin’ or where I was goin,’ you know?”

Cas smiles weakly as Dean continues to talk. “At first, we all thought she’d just get used to it and that it’d be easier each time I left, but if anything, it got worse. Girl’s as stubborn as they come,” Dean chuckles proudly. Cas feels his heart squeeze inside his chest.

“And you’re sure you’re not related by blood?” Cas asks teasingly as Dean rolls his eyes.

“Around her third birthday, Jo started to get really into My Little Ponies, the toys, the show, all of it.” Cas nods his understanding. “Well, at the beginning of the series, Twilight Sparkle, that’s the purple pony,” Dean explains, pointing at one of the ponies in the box, “gets sent away to Ponyville, to study the magic of friendship.”

Cas bites his lips, trying desperately to hold back his laugh, but it’s no use. He bursts into giggles as soon as Dean looks at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Chuckles,” he grouses good-naturedly, shoving Cas’ still shaking shoulder. “I know it’s stupid, but it was something she could understand and that time, when I explained that I had to go away to study like Twilight Sparkle did, instead of crying, she got excited and insisted I take the damn pony with me, so we could ‘learn together, like friends do.’” Dean shrugs, “It kind of became our thing, after a while. We mail the ponies back and forth while I’m away at school and Jo makes up stories about their adventures.”

“ _ Jo _ makes up stories?” Cas asks disbelievingly, arching an eyebrow at Dean.

“And maybe I do too,” the hockey player grumbles, a red blush spreading enticingly from his cheeks down into his shirt collar. “That’s why the ponies need to be near the computer, so we can play with ’em when we Skype.”

Cas stares at Dean in awe. That has to be the single most adorable thing he’s ever heard. How is it possible that Dean Winchester, hockey-star-sex-god, just became even  _ more _ attractive?

“What?” Dean asks, “Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Dean,” Cas says seriously, “are you kidding me? You’re a big, tough hockey player who takes the time to carefully mail toy ponies to your six-year-old sister so she won’t miss you while you’re away. This is sexier than the towel.”

Dean blinks. “Really?”

“Yes,” Cas pauses. “This isn’t all some ploy to get into my pants, is it?”  _ Because it’s working. _

“Of course not. Wait, would that work?” Dean asks quickly, waggling his eyebrows at Cas.

“No.”  _ Yes. _ “So, why mail the ponies through Gabe? I imagine he’s not a cheap middle-man. Surely you could mail them yourself.”

“Sure, and risk one of the guys jumpin’ on the box thinkin’ it’s a care package. I get enough gay jokes as it is, Cas. Last thing I need is those assholes findin’ out about this. Speakin’ of which, sorry ‘bout earlier.”

“What for?” Cas asks quizzically. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was actually surprised you didn’t tell them we’d already slept together. Would have fit far better with your ‘playboy’ image.”

“First of all, who the fuck talks like that?” Cas rolls his eyes. “Second, just because I kiss a lot, doesn’t mean I kiss and tell, especially not to those assholes.”

“Mmm…” Cas agrees, “I suppose the Ponies would frown on that.”

“Fuck you,” Dean counters with a laugh.

“Do you have a favorite? You do have a favorite, don’t you? Who’s your favorite Pony, Dean?”

“I do not have a favorite. And you’re a dick.”

“Cas picks up a light blue Pony with a rainbow mane and tail from the box. “Ooh, is it this one?” He asks. “Wait, I know this one. It’s Rainbow…Bright, right?”

“That’s Rainbow Dash, you heathen,” Dean chides, snatching the Pony back from Cas and tossing it into the shoebox.

“I’m sorry I insulted your gay pride Pony, Dean,” Cas answers solemnly, his twitching lips giving away his silent laugh.

“The ‘magic of friendship,’ my ass,” Dean growls. Reaching behind himself on the bed, he picks up the cardboard sleeve from where he’d tossed it in his haste to get to the Ponies and hands it to Cas.

“So, uh, why’d you keep it, anyways?”

Fidgeting with the thin strip of cardboard, Cas looks down at his hands as he answers. “I keep things, sometimes. Reminders, I guess, of special moments or things that happen.”

“Like a scrapbook,” Dean supplies.

“I suppose,” Cas agrees, “though it’s more ‘scraps,’ less ‘book.’”

Dean chuckles. “I’ve heard of people keepin’ trophies of their conquests, Cas, but I guess I didn’t figure you for the type.”

Cas feels his face heat up. “It’s not like that,” he defends weakly. “I know you’ve had a lot of experience when it comes to sex, but I haven’t. Well, not with multiple partners,” he amends. “I spent most of college in a monogamous relationship and before Derek, I’d only gone as far as trading handjobs and that was just with one other person. So, when I told you that night with you was ‘some of’ the best sex I’d ever had, what I really meant was that it actually  _ was _ the best sex I’d ever had.” He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, red-faced and unable to meet Dean’s eyes.

Dean’s quiet for a long moment, until…

“Applejack.”

“Huh?” Cas looks up at Dean in surprise, only to see him looking down now as well, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks pink.

“My favorite Pony. Her name is Applejack.”

“You’re a good brother, Dean,” Cas says sincerely. “And I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise.”

Looking suddenly shy, Dean asks, “So I’m really only the second person…” he trails off.

Cas shrugs. “Yes, though not for lack of opportunity.”

“No fuckin’ kidding,” Dean snorts, looking Cas up and down appreciatively as Cas elbows him.

“Even before Derek, I never liked the idea of hooking up with random people. It always seemed like an unnecessary risk.”

“Dude, there is such a thing as ‘safe sex,’ ya know? Besides, man, what’s life without a little risk?” 

Cas just gives a one-shouldered shrug, still toying with Dean’s phone number in his hands. “I’m just not a risk-taker, I suppose. I spent my entire life growing up in a two-parent home in the suburbs. We had a white picket fence, a minivan, and a dog and that’s the life I always envisioned myself having when I grew up.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Dean says softly, looking oddly wistful.

“No, but it’s not exactly adventurous, either. Even this school. Close to home, not too big, no chance of getting lost in the crowd,  _ safe. _ ”

Cas frowns. How boring he must sound to someone as vibrant and full of life as Dean. But that’s good, he tells himself. That’s what he wants. To get Dean to move on. Except,  _ is  _ that what he really wants? Was it ever?

“Well,” Dean says, stretching out and lying back against the bed pillows, tucking his hands beneath his head and looking so beautiful Cas feels his heart turn over in his chest, “that explains what you were doin’ with that loser, Derek, anyway. That guy sounds about as adventurous as dry toast. Fuck, I bet he wore socks during sex. Someone as funny and interesting as you, Cas? How the hell’d you stand it?”

Cas stares for a moment. Dean thinks  _ he’s  _ interesting?

“Derek was…” He pauses and really thinks for a second, tries to remember a single day in his year and a half with Derek that was even  _ half _ as thrilling as every conversation he’s ever had with Dean and comes up blank. “You’re right,” he finally laughs, “he was awful. The most boring person I’ve ever been around. I actually think the dry toast would be a step up.” It feels good to laugh about his ex and for the first time, Cas realizes the gut-twisting weight he usually feels in his stomach when thinking about Derek is gone. It’s a relief.

“I do wish I could have figured that out  _ before _ he stole my job, though,” he admits. “I signed a twelve-month non-compete clause with Sandover, which basically fucks my career prospects in the entire Chicago area, Sandover’s got their hands in so many things.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Dean asks quietly and Cas shrugs.

“Charlie’s been making me apply to companies in other parts of the country, but honestly, the thought of striking out on my own like that? It kind of terrifies me.”

Dean smiles an endearing lop-sided smile. “Guess you might have to take a risk after all. You never know, sometimes risks pan out. I take risks all the time when I play hockey. When you play defense, you gotta anticipate your opponent’s next move, so you can be one step ahead of him to block it. If you wait around for him to make the first move, you’ll miss every time.”

“Is that why you came over to talk to me at Charlie’s party?”

Dean winks at him but doesn’t answer the question. “There’s always a risk involved though. Always the chance that things could go a different direction than you were expecting. But, if you don’t go for it—”

“Oh god,” Cas interrupts, “is this going to be one of those lame ‘you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take’ sports metaphors?”

“Hey, ain’t nothing wrong with a sports metaphor,” Dean protests and Cas grins.

“Mmmhmm. Very inspirational. Original too. I’m pretty sure my eighth-grade social studies teacher had that on a poster.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Dean laughs. “I could write for Hallmark.”

“With an eloquent vocabulary like that, I’ve no doubt,” Cas snarks. “Can I get that on a t-shirt?”

“You’re a dick,” Dean says, nudging Cas’ thigh with a sock-covered toe. “All I’m sayin’ is that it’s not like playin’ it safe really worked out for ya.”

Before Cas can come up with a response to that, Dean snorts, then bites his lip like he’s holding back a laugh.

What?” He asks suspiciously.

“I just realized. You’re Rachel,” Dean answers. “From Friends,” he explains between giggles at Cas’ obvious confusion. “Like when she steals that fossil from Ross’ museum after the first time they have sex. Hey wait,” Dean pauses suddenly, propping himself up on his elbows. “You didn’t take anything from my apartment, did you, Cas?”

Dean’s eyes are alight with that same teasing glint that’s always been there when he talks to Cas, except now Cas can see the kindness there as well and knows that Dean is laughing  _ with _ him and not  _ at  _ him. He always has been.

He groans and blushes anyway, grabbing one of the pillows from behind Dean and thwacking the side of the hockey player’s grinning face with it as he flops back on the bed and uses it to cover his own.

“I hate you,” he mumbles into the pillow. “Sorry you weren’t just another hook-up to me, you assbutt.”

“Hey,” Dean says gently, pulling the pillow away from Cas’ face, “You, uh, you weren’t just another hook-up to me either, okay?”

When Cas looks at him disbelievingly, Dean shrugs. “Never had a hook-up I couldn’t get out of my head before. I like bein’ around you, Cas. Even with our clothes on.” Dean means to say it jokingly, Cas is certain, but by the time the words leave his lips, they don’t sound anything but sincere.

Speaking of Dean’s lips, suddenly Cas finds that he can’t take his eyes off of them. Dean’s hovering over him now and they’re so very, very close. Cas’ head tips back of its own volition and seeing the invitation for what it is, Dean’s lips begin to dip down.

“’Sup bitches! You better not be naked in there!” Charlie’s voice and the accompanying pounding on Dean’s apartment door startle them apart.

“ _ This _ is why I don’t have friends,” Dean grumbles as they climb off the bed and head for the living room, Cas trying desperately to calm his racing heart.

“Keep your pants on, we’re coming,’” Dean growls as he reaches for the doorknob, tacking on, “And not like  _ that _ ,” as Gabe’s shit-eating grin is revealed behind the opening door.

Three pizzas, an equal number of six-packs, two  _ Lord of the Rings _ films and a  _ The Best Thing I Ever Ate  _ Food Network marathon later finds their small group of friends comparing their “best ofs.”

“Best burger?” Gabe asks and Dean scoffs.

“Easy. The burgers my Aunt Ellen serves at her bar, The Roadhouse.”

“Best dessert?” Gabe fires again.

“Pie,” Dean says at the same time Charlie and Cas both answer, “ice cream.”

“Animals.” Dean shakes his head woefully.

“Best campus-sponsored, completely fun, anyone would love it if they tried it, non-sexual role-playing experience?” Charlie asks in a rush, looking out of the corner of her eye at Cas.

“Charlie, I am still not LARPing with you,” Cas answers drily, smirking at the redhead’s pout.

“Wait,” Dean interjects, “are there campus-sponsored  _ sexual  _ role-playing experiences? If so, I really should have been more involved in campus life.”

Ignoring him, Charlie continues to wheedle Cas, “Aw, come on. You have to try it at least once before graduation. You’ll love it! Ask Dean.”

Cas’ head swivels toward Dean. “ _ You _ LARPed?”

“It was just the one time a couple of weeks ago,” Dean defends quickly before leaning toward Cas and whispering conspiratorially, “How the hell do you tell her no, man? She’s fuckin’ terrifying. I said yes out of self-preservation.”

“I heard that, Handmaiden,” Charlie says in a slightly menacing tone as she nibbles on a leftover slice of pepperoni pizza.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Dean amends quickly. “It actually was a pretty good time.” He grins at Cas. “I got to carry a sword.”

Cas just raises an eyebrow in response. “Handmaiden?”

“Not important.”

Before Cas can let Dean know just how very important it actually  _ is _ , Gabe pipes up excitedly.

“Ooh, I know. Best sex?”

Dean doesn’t miss a beat. Without even glancing in Cas’ direction, he answers, “Rhonda Hurley, freshman year. She had this satiny pair of pink panties she loved.” He winks at Gabe and Charlie. “And I looked pretty good in ’em too.”

As his friends hoop and holler over Dean’s apparently little-known panty kink, Cas wrangles his disappointment. Dean’s answer to Gabe’s question shouldn’t have stung, but it did. Logically, he knows that Dean’s had far more sexual partners than he has and to wish that Cas was Dean’s best just because the reverse is true isn’t fair. That doesn’t stop the disappointment and misplaced jealously from roiling in Cas’ stomach though, especially after his admission to Dean earlier this evening.

Gabe opens his mouth to answer the question and Dean immediately cuts him off. “No way, dude. We all already hear way too much about your sex life with Kali.” His eyes flit to Cas for a brief second before he carries on smoothly, “How about best prank you’ve ever pulled? This one time, Sammy…”

Dean dives into some story about one of the many pranks he’s played on his litter brother and soon, he and Gabe are swapping tales and competing over which is the bigger trickster.

Of course Dean would shift the conversation away from the sex topic before Cas could answer. Because Cas would have had to confess, again, that sex with Dean was the best he’s ever had, when the opposite is clearly not true. At least Dean is a good enough friend to keep Cas from looking completely pathetic in front of their other friends. Feeling suddenly exposed and inadequate, he spends the rest of the night sitting in Dean’s living room quietly, sipping the same beer and deflecting both Dean’s attempts to pull him into the conversation and his concerned glances.

As the party wraps up in those hours between late-night and early-morning, Cas fetches his bag from Dean’s room and follows Charlie and Gabe out of the apartment. His friends are already descending the stairs when Dean calls out for him to wait.

Turning back toward Dean, he raises a silent eyebrow in question as Dean licks his lips and shuffles his feet nervously in front of his doorway.

“I, uh, just thought you oughtta know, that thing I said earlier, about Rhonda Hurley?”

“The panties thing?” Cas asks, tilting his head in confusion.

“Uh, no, not that. That, uh. That’s…yeah.” Dean blushes pink, eyes glued on the doormat beneath his socked feet. “I meant the other part. About her bein’ the best I ever had?”

“Oh. What about it?” Cas’ traitorous heart beats wildly in his chest as ill-advised hope surges within him.

“I lied.” Dean finally meets his eyes, wearing the same lop-sided smile from earlier. “Night, Cas.”

Dean steps inside his apartment and shuts the door, leaving Cas to follow after his friends and wonder when, exactly, did he fall in love with Dean Winchester?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter end notes for warnings.

“ _Of course_ we’re coming to your playoff game, Dean. Don’t be ridiculous!” Charlie scolds lightly, shoveling scrambled eggs onto her plate at the dining hall’s breakfast buffet.

“You guys really don’t have to, you know. It’s St. Paddy’s weekend. You should go to the parade.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “We’ve all been to the parade and seen the river dyed green plenty of times, Dean. You’re more important than green beer and drunken céilí dancing.”

“Besides,” Charlie argues, “after we watch you whoop St. Cloud, we can all go into the city together, to celebrate.”

Dean smiles, secretly pleased at his friends’ insistence that they come watch his game. Aside from the occasional Omaha game like the one two weeks ago, he’s not used to having someone in the stands to cheer just for him. It’s hard enough for Ellen and Bill to get away from the Roadhouse to come to a local game, let alone one that requires an overnight trip. One of the pitfalls of owning a successful bar is rarely getting a weekend off.

He’s especially excited because this will be the first time Cas has seen him play since they started hanging out. Charlie and Gabe had come to his last home game, but Cas had gone home to visit family for his dad’s birthday party that weekend, something Dean had to admit, he was a little envious of. Not that he’d ever want to go to John’s birthday party, but the idea is nice. Plus, he probably would have been a lot less lonely these past few years if he’d been in easy driving distance of Lincoln.

Of course, just how lonely he was wasn’t something Dean had actually realized until he suddenly wasn’t anymore, finding himself surrounded by his unlikely little group of friends. He’s still not quite sure how that happened. With the way him and Sam grew up, making friends was a skill Dean never really stuck around somewhere long enough to learn. By the time he landed at the Harvelles’, he’d learned to actively avoid developing any kind of attachments to people. After all, nothing ever lasted in Dean’s experience. It was just easier not to get attached.

And Cas thinks _he’s_ the one who’s not a risk-taker. 

That Saturday, as he prepares for their regional semifinal against St. Cloud State, Dean’s eyes scan the stands for his friends, finding them in the seats Dean had arranged for them, right next to the glass on Dean’s side of the ice. He’d called in more than one favor to secure those seats, but he’s sure it’ll be worth it. He’s not even going to pretend that he doesn’t plan to put on one hell of a show for Cas tonight. Not that he doesn’t play his best in any game, of course, but having someone as sexy (and smart, and funny, and sweet) as Cas to impress definitely provides a little extra motivation.

As the game starts, Dean pulls his attention away from the gorgeous, wild-haired brunet (his hair looking deliberately tousled instead of hat-helped for once, thanks to the milder mid-March temperatures) and focuses on his opposing forward. Michael Edlund is a senior like Dean and Dean has to admit, he’s good.

The dude has dekes for days, his constant feints leaving Dean scrambling to suddenly change direction on more than one occasion. Edlund’s face is stoic as fuck, too, not giving away a single clue as to what his next move is going to be. On top of his fancy puck-handling, the asshole’s lightning quick and Dean spends more of the first period than he’s comfortable admitting scuttling around and chasing after the wiry fucker. The Hunters end the first period down by one, the score 1-0 in the Huskies’ favor.

By the start of the second though, Dean’s finally gotten in the dick bag’s head and he’s intercepting more of Edlund’s moves than he’s falling for. This guy definitely likes his head games, but that’s okay, Dean’s not a dumb guy…not when it comes to hockey at least. Ignoring both his face and the puck, Dean keeps his eyes glued to Edlund’s shoulders, watching for the telltale shift that will telegraph his reverse milliseconds before his stick changes course.

And there it is. Edlund suddenly switches from his forehand to his backhand, but Dean’s already moving, changing direction and swinging his left leg around in an arc to block Edlund’s pass with his skate, rather than his stick.

 _This puck’s mine, dick bag_ . _Get your own._

The Hunters’ crowd roars in approval as Dean makes quick work of handling the puck off to Victor, who drives it down the ice, scoring their first point of the game.

Dean takes a quick second to check the stands for Cas’ reaction, expecting to see him cheering along with everyone else. To his disappointment though, he sees the man’s dark head bent over his phone instead. Shaking it off, he refocuses on the game. He’s got this douchebag’s number now.

Edlund keeps up his tricks, but Dean sees through most of them now, blocking the forward at nearly every pass. As Edlund drives forward, seemingly about to take his own shot at the goal, Dean watches the glass behind him out of the corner of his eye. Seeing the Huskie’s center creeping up behind them, he realizes that Edlund’s about to pull the same stunt Dean fell for weeks ago during their game with Miami. This time, Dean’s ready for it when Edlund switches directions and tries to pass back to his center, intercepting the puck easily and passing it off to one of his own forwards. Once again though, when he looks up to gauge Cas’ reaction, he finds Charlie bouncing up and down excitedly, pulling on the sleeve of Cas’ Henley, while Cas pokes at his phone.

As the game moves into the third and final period, Dean keeps up his stellar defense, channeling his frustration over Cas into his game and playing some of the best hockey of his career. Unable to help himself (okay, who’s he kidding? He could totally help himself, but where’s the fun in that?), he begins to taunt Edlund, tossing him winks and kissy faces every time he foils one of the forward’s clever moves.

Finally, _finally,_ the asshole’s mask begins to slip and Dean can see the frustration written all over his face. Good. At least Dean’s not the only one facing disappointment tonight. His irritation still mounting, Dean finally gets an opportunity for something he _knows_ will get Cas’ attention. As Edlund skates alongside the edge of the rink, trying and failing once again to get around Dean, Dean body checks the asshole into the glass…right in front of Cas and Charlie.

Cas jumps and locks eyes with Dean, who tosses him a smirk and a wink before skating away, ignoring the scowling forward. It was an amateur move maybe, but it was effective, both in getting Cas to fucking notice him and in getting the puck away from Edlund and back into the capable hands of the Hunters’ offense.

As their first playoff game wraps up with the Hunters firmly in the lead, Dean celebrates with his teammates, pulling off his helmet and trading hugs and back slaps after the final buzzer sounds. They’ll go on to the regional finals with a 4-3 win under their belts.

Grinning ear-to-ear, Dean skates toward where Charlie and Cas are cheering on the other side of the glass. Dean waves to a screaming Charlie while waggling his eyebrows at Cas, who laughs and shakes his head in return. For a moment they just stand there staring at each other, Cas looking so goddamn beautiful as he beams at Dean proudly, blue eyes sparkling under the arena lights. Neither of them notice the St. Cloud forward skating up behind Dean, not until the last moment when Cas’ striking blue eyes widen in fear and his mouth opens on a scream Dean can’t hear over the roaring crowd. He’s only halfway through raising his arm to point behind Dean when Dean feels a sharp pain in his knee and the sensation of falling before everything goes black.

The first time Dean wakes in the hospital feels like pulling himself out of the lake while wearing all of his hockey gear and a lead vest to boot. As he drags himself toward consciousness, he becomes aware of a hand clasping his own and gives it a weak squeeze.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice is above him, near, but sounding so far away. “It’s okay, Dean. You’re okay.”

Cas squeezes back, his other hand coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder, the grip solid, firm, reassuring.

“Coach Singer is calling—”

Whatever else Cas says is lost as Dean slips back under.

The second time Dean wakes, Cas is still there, sitting in the chair next to Dean’s hospital bed, looking tired, dark circles framing blue eyes a little duller than Dean is used to seeing them, but happy to see Dean nonetheless. Putting down the copy of _People Magazine_ he’d been reading, he smiles at Dean.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“H—” Dean tries, his Sahara mouth and sandpaper throat cutting off his greeting with a light cough that sends shooting pains through his head.

He winces, shutting his eyes against lights that are suddenly far too bright.

“Shit,” he hears Cas swear quietly before feeling a plastic straw at his lips.

“Sip,” Cas commands quietly as he uses the nearby remote to incline the head of Dean’s hospital bed. “Not too much.”

Dean obeys, taking tiny sips of the water, though his parched mouth is demanding that he down the entire thing.

Finally, daring to open his eyes a sliver, he’s able to clear his throat enough to ask, “Wha’ happened?”

“What do you remember?” Cas asks carefully as he sits the water cup back on the rolling bedside table.

Dean thinks back to last night as Cas uses the call button looped over Dean’s bed railing to let the nursing staff know he’s awake. He remembers winning their first playoff game, then going over to wave at Cas and Charlie, and then…

“Son of bitch took his stick to my knee, didn’t he?”

Vaguely remembering the blow and a sharp pain to his left knee, Dean tries to move it now, feeling an echoing twinge that confirms his suspicions. There’s no need to specify who. The only one with any reason to attack Dean last night was that bag of dicks, Edlund.

“Yes, though that’s not why you’re in the hospital. The bigger problem was you hitting your head on the ice when you fell.”

“’Splains a lot,” Dean murmurs, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in the back of his head. “How bad?”

“I don’t know,” Cas admits. “But Coach Singer should be back any minute. The doctors couldn’t tell him anything, of course, but he called your family, who I believe filled him in. They should be here soon too, actually.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean manages a half smile. “You didn’t have to stay, you know, but I’m glad you did,” he tacks on the last part hastily when Cas looks suddenly guilty.

“About that, Dean…” But Cas doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence as a very chipper and very _loud_ voice enters the room, attached to a cheerful-looking blonde nurse.

“Oh, you’re awake! Super! Whoops, sorry about that,” the nurse adds in a much quieter tone, noticing Dean’s pained flinch. “Whatd’ya say I check your vitals and hook you up with some of the good pain meds, now that you’re up and at ’em?”

“Yes, please,” Dean manages weakly.

“Thank you, Donna,” Cas adds as the nurse straps a blood pressure cuff around Dean’s bicep and slips one of those thingies that somehow magically tells medical people how much oxygen is in your blood on Dean’s finger. Once she has her readings, she wastes no time in pulling a medicine cup with a small white pill out of her med cart, passing it to Dean.

“Had a feeling you might want these,” Donna winks, before turning to Cas. “How was the magazine, Cas? I know it’s not much, but I’ve done the whole bedside vigil thing once or twice myself and you can only count the number of ceiling tiles so many times before ya start to lose your marbles.”

“It was very helpful, thanks again,” Cas says warmly as he hands Dean the water cup from before.

“You betcha,” Donna smiles kindly at the two of them. “You two sure do make a cute couple. You’re a lucky guy there, Deano. Your boyfriend here’s hardly left your side all night.”

Dean chokes on the water and Cas winces.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” Cas says quickly, shooting a panicked glance at Dean.

As Dean splutters, Donna makes quick work of checking his vitals and replacing the saline bag hooked up to the IV in Dean’s left hand before standing back and nodding sharply.

“You’re all set, there, Mr. Winchester,” Donna chirps, her Minnesotan accent heavy on Dean’s name. “The doctor will be in to see ya in a bit and the day shift nurse’ll be around for another vitals and med check in a few hours. If you boys need anything before then, just hit the call button.”

As the cheerful nurse and her med cart bundle out of the room, Dean’s eyes swivel to his friend.

“Caaaas?” he draws the name out slowly. “What was that?”

Cas flushes an adorable crimson color as he blurts “I’m so sorry, Dean. The hospital wasn’t going to let anyone stay with you while you were unconscious, but Charlie convinced them to let me stay by telling them I was your boyfriend. We just didn’t want you to wake up here alone and I—”

“Cas, dude. Chill out. It’s okay,” Dean gently cuts off Cas’ nervous rambling, ignoring the acrobatics his heart does at the word “boyfriend.”

“It is?”

“Of course, man. You were right. Woulda sucked waking up here by myself.” Dean pauses, feeling his own face flush, his traitorous heart thudding so loudly in his chest he’s surprised Cas can’t hear it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Cas smiles at Dean fondly and for a moment, Dean allows himself to wonder what it’d be like if Cas really were his boyfriend. What would it be like to have Cas care about him like that?

He doesn’t get to dwell on it long, however, before a heavy knock on the open hospital room door announces the arrival of Coach Singer.

“Coach,” Dean smiles and the rough-around-the-edges hockey coach grunts a greeting in reply.

“Good. Yer up.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m guessin’ you already met Cas?” Dean swallows. “My boyfriend?”

He’s guessing Cas has probably had to keep up the boyfriend charade around Coach Singer while Dean was out of it. There’s no point in calling him out and maybe embarrassing the guy over it, so Dean decides to roll with the deception, trying to ignore the strange, giddy sensation he feels at the sound of the words “boyfriend” and “Cas” in such close proximity. It must be his injury. Or maybe the pain meds Donna gave him.

“Yeah, we met. He the one I get to thank for the improvement in your pissy ass attitude this season?”

“Love you too, Coach,” Dean grins, choosing to ignore both the coach’s comment and Cas’ surprised expression.

“Yeah, yeah,” the coach grumbles, predictably shifting uncomfortably at the mere mention of feelings. He’s always been Dean’s role model that way.

Taking a seat in the only other chair in the room, against the wall closest to the door, Singer’s eyes study Dean from beneath the worn-out trucker hat he wears, emblazoned with the university’s logo.

“How ya feelin,’ kid?”

“Like I got jumped by a half-assed Vorhees wannabe,” Dean says honestly, shifting in his bed and wincing at the pain in both his knee and skull.

Coach nods. “Little shit’s been arrested and charged with assault, by the way. The police’ll be by later today to get your statement. They already got one from your boyfriend there an’ that little redheaded girl who saw him attack you.”

“How bad is it, Coach?”

Singer hedges, looking even more uncomfortable. “Maybe you oughtta wait for the doctors to explain it…”

Seeing the expression on Dean’s face, he stops and sighs. “You lucked out with your knee. It’s bruised pretty badly, but that’s about it. Your head, on the other hand…”

“Concussion?” Dean asks.

“For starters,” the coach agrees.

Dean sighs. “Looks like I’m benched for a couple games, huh?”

Bobby Singer looks at him with far more sympathy than Dean even knew the man was capable of.

Shit.

“Son,” the grizzled coach sighs, “you’ve got a skull fracture. It’s nothin’ too bad really. So far there ain’t been too much swelling and it’s pretty minor as far as havin’ a crack in yer melon can go. Should heal all on its own.”

“But…” Dean prompts with a swallow, Bobby’s face telegraphing that there’s more to the story.

“But,” he agrees, “you can’t risk any further injury to it while it heals. You’re gonna be out the rest of the season.”

Dean looks down at the bedsheets gripped tightly in his fists, as despite his best efforts, hot tears sting his eyes. He feels Cas’ strong hand on his shoulder again and without thinking about it, reaches up to cover it with his own.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Bobby’s use of his actual name In place of his usual “son,” “kid,” or affectionate insult, drives home just how bleak Dean’s situation really is.

He manages a weak nod. “Yeah. Thanks, Coach.” If his voice breaks on the word “coach,” no one mentions it.

Dean struggles to reconcile this new information. He’s out for the rest of the season…the rest of his _final_ season. When they actually have a shot at the championship. Dean helped get them there and now, he’s not even going to be a part of it.

Hockey’s been such a big part of Dean’s life for so long now. He’s not even sure who he is without it. Noticing that Dean was struggling to make friends and settle into life in Lincoln the way Sam was in those first months after Dad took off for good, Bill had started turning on NHL games when Dean was sulking in the living room, soon drawing Dean into the game, teaching him the basics as they cheered their favorite teams and shouted profanities (“Don’t tell Ellen I let you swear.”) at their rivals.

After that, Bill started taking him to their local arena to shoot some pucks around and get a feel for the ice. Surprising them both, Dean was a natural, taking to the ice like he’d been skating his whole life. It wasn’t long after that, Bill had signed Dean up for his first recreational league and within a year, Dean’s coaches had convinced him to move on to a more competitive team.

Hockey had given Dean a sense of community and camaraderie he’d never experienced before. The sport had saved him…and now it was over.

He wants to scream, rage, break things, break fucking Edlund’s face. Instead, he sits in a goddamn hospital bed, unable to even turn his fucking head quickly without feeling like he’s gonna throw up from the pain.

Cas turns his hand over on Dean’s shoulder, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s and squeezing before bringing their joined hands down to Dean’s lap and interlacing their fingers further. Dean holds on for dear life, breathing through the cascade of emotions whirling around his cracked head.

Coach Singer leaves not long after that, making the usual “I’ll let you get some rest,” comments people make when they’re tired of sitting in depressing-as-fuck hospital rooms and Dean sags against the mattress. Maybe he does need some rest after all.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Cas suggests gently, his hand still clasped in Dean’s, even though he’s dropped it from Dean’s shoulder to his lap.

Dean nods, then clears his throat. “I, uh, I know you got shit to do and…fuck…I’m sorry. If you gotta go, I get it, but, uh…” Dean struggles to ask for what he wants right now, but fortunately, Cas has become a mind reader in addition to an actual angel today.

“I’m not going anywhere. Sleep.”

Dean relaxes into his pillows. “Thanks, Cas,” he mumbles, already drifting off.

Cas sits by Dean’s bedside, watching over his sleeping friend as relief at the knowledge that Dean is going to be okay wars with sorrow for what his friend has lost. Last night may have been the first time he’d really watched Dean play, but it was easy to see both how much Dean loves the sport and how talented he is, even if Cas did have to spend half the game on his phone, Googling hockey moves to try and figure out what impressive thing Dean had done each time the crowd cheered.

Several minutes later, Donna pops her head in the door to whisper a quiet goodbye to Cas, letting him know she’s officially off-duty and that he can beep the day shift nurse if his “boyfriend” needs anything. Cas thanks her sincerely, then lets his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud when she leaves the room.

His “boyfriend.” He still can’t believe he let Charlie talk him into this charade. After giving a quick witness’ statement to the stern, but kindly-looking sheriff who’d handcuffed Michael Edlund and passed him off to two other officers to be taken in for processing and holding, Cas and Charlie had followed Dean’s ambulance to the local hospital, offering one another the same, empty reassurances that Dean would be okay. After all, they reasoned again and again, as if the more they repeated it the more true it would become, if Dean were _really_ hurt, they’d be taking him to one of the bigger trauma centers in the city and not the local hospital, right?

After spending more than an hour in the ED waiting room, the receptionist had finally let them know that, though still unconscious, Dean was stable and would be spending the night in the ICU for monitoring. Something cold and barbed had gripped Castiel’s insides as the mention of the ICU, but Charlie hadn’t missed a beat, asking if they could see their friend.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” the ED nurse had said apologetically, “but you aren’t on his emergency contacts and without the patient awake to confirm that he wants to receive your visit, I’m afraid we can’t let you up.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t let the poor guy wake up all alone! His family live in Nebraska. They won’t be able to get here till morning!”

When the nurse still wasn’t convinced, a frustrated Charlie had pleaded, “Well, if you won’t let us both go, at least let his _boyfriend_ in.”

“Charlie,” Charlie had exclaimed before his brain could catch up to his mouth, “I’m not—”

“Going to sit down here all night in this freezing waiting room (seriously, _why_ are these things always so cold?) while your _boyfriend_ is lying unconscious in an ICU bed.”

Volume rising with every word, Charlie’s voice had begun to attract the curious eyes of the other waiting room occupants, as the receptionist shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Miss, it’s not—”

“I’m sure if you were some weepy sorority girl, they’d already have you up there by his bedside, Cas,” Charlie continued, crossing her arms and giving the poor woman behind the desk the same righteous glare she’d used on the College Republicans leader who’d tried to declare her “Save the Tatas” cupcakes obscene. After a ten-minute tirade about how the public only seem to find breasts obscene when they aren’t being used to sell something to men, in which she had to have set some kind of record for the number of times she used the words “breast, areola, and nipple,” the young man had slunk away, his face as red as his home state.

The hospital receptionist hadn’t fared much better, except instead of turning red, her face had grown increasingly paler as Charlie began tossing around words like “discrimination” and “social media,” and “viral.”

“J-just a moment,” she’d finally stammered before fleeing the reception area.

“Charlie,” Cas had rounded on his friend in a fierce whisper, “What are you doing? You know I’m not Dean’s boyfriend.”

“Shh,” she’d whispered back. “This’ll work and it’s the only way one of us is getting up there. Do you really want Dean to wake up scared and alone?”

Seeing Cas’ resolve teetering, Charlie had gone in for the kill. “I woke up alone in the ICU after the accident, Cas,” she explained, referencing the car crash that had killed both of her parents while leaving her with relatively minor injuries her junior year of high school. “It sucked.”

Well, there was certainly no arguing with that, which is how Cas had found himself hugging Charlie goodbye a few minutes later, her whispered, “Fake relationship, I love this one,” making him both smile and roll his eyes, before a kindly orderly escorted him to his “boyfriend’s” ICU room.

Now, Cas sighs. At least Dean hadn’t seemed upset by Castiel’s lie. He’d even continued the charade in front of Coach Singer, which left Cas both surprised and relieved. Singer hadn’t so much as blinked the night before when Cas had introduced himself as “Dean’s boyfriend,” an easy acceptance that Cas wasn’t accustomed to in this little red corner of their largely blue state. He hadn’t relished the thought of telling Bobby the truth, especially since accepting or not, he found the man to be more than a little intimidating.

Dean’s only been resting an hour when two doctors come in to examine him. Cas reluctantly wakes his sleeping friend, then moves to leave the room only to find himself stopped by Dean’s hand on his arm. Seeing the slightly panicked look in Dean’s eyes, Cas smiles reassuringly and settles back in his chair as the shorter of the two doctors, a Latino man with wavy dark hair and kind eyes who introduces himself as a neurologist, asks Dean a series of questions to gauge his neurological functioning. He then talks about the scans they did while Dean was unconscious and will need to repeat now that he’s awake, but assures him that everything is looking as good as can be expected and that he doesn’t anticipate Dean experiencing any damage or symptoms other than those commonly associated with a concussion. Dean and Cas release matching exhales at the news.

After the neurologist makes sure Dean understands the precautions he needs to take in order to rest his brain and allow it to heal, the tall, blonde orthopedic surgeon reiterates much of what Coach Singer had already told them regarding Dean’s skull fracture. She too stresses the need for Dean to rest and avoid doing anything that will aggravate his injuries over the next several weeks. Dean tenses at her words, no doubt thinking of the hockey championship he won’t be playing in, but he accepts them without argument or complaint.

Shortly after the doctors leave, a member of the hospital transport team comes to whisk Dean away, bed and all, for the aforementioned scans the neurologist ordered.

“That was quick,” Dean comments in surprise as the orderly moves around the bed, unlocking the brakes that are keeping the rolling bedframe in place.

“Perks of bein’ in the ICU, brother,” the orderly chuckles. “You get the VIP treatment. Now, don’t be expectin’ this kinda red-carpet pampering when they move you to a regular room, though.”

Dean laughs as the burly orderly, _Benny_ , Cas squints to read the name on the man’s hospital ID, winks at him before rolling him toward the door.

At the room’s exit, Benny pauses, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he turns to Cas. “Don’t worry, cher, I’ll have him back here before you know it.”

Cas isn’t sure what his face was doing to make Benny say that, but he quickly tries to reign it in as he nods to Dean. “I’ll just…wait here then.”

He shakes his head at himself after the two men have disappeared down the hall. He’s been Dean’s fake boyfriend for all of twelve hours and he’s getting jealous of potential rivals? Shoving down the unwelcome and completely inappropriate feeling, Cas rests his elbows on his knees as he drops his head into his hands. Clearly, his sleepless night is catching up to him.

He’s contemplating whether or not he has time to sneak in a quick catnap while Dean’s getting his MRI when he hears a voice at the doorway.

“Hello?”

“Um, hi?” Cas lifts his head and greets the middle-aged, auburn-haired woman in Dean’s doorway. She looks serious, but kind, wearing a slightly worried frown and an unbuttoned plaid shirt overtop an olive tank top and what Cas is fairly certain Charlie would describe as “mom jeans.”

“I’m lookin’ for Dean Winchester. The nurse out front said this is his room, but there seems to be somethin’ missing.” She gestures at the empty space where Dean’s bed should be and smirks.

“Ah, yes,” Cas says, rising from the chair and stepping into the empty space, “you’re in the right place, then. They took Dean for an MRI a little bit ago.”

This must be the family Coach Singer and the hospital called for Dean. Is this Dean’s mother, then? Dean’s never mentioned parents, though he talks about his brother, Sam, frequently, so Cas has always assumed that for one reason or another, they aren’t a part of his life. Could this be Jo’s mom, then?

Internally cursing himself for not asking Dean more about his family, he gestures awkwardly to his vacated chair, “Please, have a seat. Dean should be back soon.”

Ignoring Castiel’s offer, the woman looks at him shrewdly for a moment, before stepping forward to meet him in the center of Dean’s lonely bed-space, extending her hand, “Ellen Harvelle. You must be Cas.” It’s not a question.

Cas blinks in surprise, though he reaches forward to shake the offered hand automatically.

“Yes,” he says slowly, “I am.”

Ellen grins, though Cas can’t tell if it’s meant to be comforting or mocking. Yes, this woman is definitely Dean’s family.

“Bobby mentioned you,” she explains.

“Ah, of course.” Coach Singer mentioned him? Does that mean he also told this woman, who might very well be the closest thing Dean has to a mother, that Cas is Dean’s _boyfriend_?

Cas’ sleep-deprived brain is still trying to come up with a way to figure out exactly what Ellen thinks she knows and correct any…inaccuracies, without getting thrown out of Dean’s hospital room, when another voice makes them both turn toward the door.

“Okay, Aunt Ellen, car’s parked. Where’s Dean?” A tall, lanky youth with light brown hair reaching past his ears fills the doorway. This has to be Dean’s brother. Cas isn’t sure if he’s more nervous or relieved to meet the little brother who is so clearly the most important person in Dean’s life. At least he knows who Sam is, though.

“Dean went to get an MRI. Meet Cas.” Ellen steps back as Sam walks toward Cas eagerly, long arm already outstretched.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas greets warmly as he shakes the boy’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah, you too, man,” Sam says as he pumps Cas’ arm excitedly.

“Really?” Cas asks, squinting in surprise. Dean talks about him to Sam?

Sam snorts, “Oh yeah. Dean wouldn’t shut up about you last time I saw him. I knew he liked you more than he let on.”

Feeling himself blush, Cas stammers, “Oh. Well, um—”

“Ellen! Sammy!” Dean’s voice as Benny rolls his ICU bed back into the room is a welcome interruption.

“Hey, kid,” Ellen says affectionately, wrapping her arms around Dean and holding onto him as she adds, “nice of you to finally join us.” She’s a little teary-eyed as she moves back from Dean’s bed to let Sam have his turn hugging his brother.

Benny resets the brakes on Dean’s bed and disappears from the room, tossing Cas a two fingered salute on his way out the door. Cas almost wishes he could join him, feeling like he’s intruding upon a private family moment.

“Sorry,” Dean answers, “They took me for an MRI. The doctor wants to compare it to the scans they took while I was out last night.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Ellen says slyly, seemingly recovered from her emotional moment, “we were just getting to know your boyfriend, here.”

Dean’s eyes widen and Cas shakes his head frantically, hurrying to explain, “I didn’t—”

“Speakin’ of which,” Ellen cuts in, “how come I gotta hear you have a boyfriend from your _hockey coach_ , instead of from you?”

“Geez, Ellen, calm down,” Dean soothes, avoiding Cas’ eyes as he adds, “It’s just…new, is all.”

Cas barely keeps his jaw from dropping.

“Yeah,” Sam snorts with a pointed look at Dean, “ _really_ new, apparently.”

“Did you guys really drive five hundred miles just to harass me about Cas?” Dean asks with a roll of his eyes. “You really didn’t have to drive all night, by the way. My head’ll still be just as broken tomorrow.”

“It’ll be broken a lot longer ‘n that, you keep it up,” Ellen grumbles with a glare at Dean. “Like I was gonna get a call that you’re lyin’ in an ICU bed and not high-tail it up here. I’d smack you upside the head for that if you didn’t already have a concussion.”

“Would ya look at that? Who knew there were perks to crackin’ your skull open?” Dean teases and Cas grins fondly.

It’s nice to see Dean so at ease and it’s clear that he loves Sam and Ellen fiercely and they him in return. It makes Cas miss his own family for a moment, though he just saw his parents a couple of weeks ago. More than he’s enjoying watching Dean’s playful banter with his family, Cas is relieved that the conversation seems to have shifted away from his and Dean’s make-believe relationship for the moment. He’s not sure why Dean decided to continue the ruse, rather than just explaining the misunderstanding to his aunt and brother, but he’s certainly not going to “blow their cover,” if Dean doesn’t want him to.

After a few more minutes of gentle teasing and loving insults, Ellen excuses herself to make a phone call. “I’ll be back, boys. Gotta check in with Bill and Jo, let ’em know Humpty Dumpty’s awake and that bump on the head didn’t magically improve his personality any.”

“Can’t improve perfection,” Dean calls after her, wincing slightly at the volume of his own voice. Cas pats his arm sympathetically, having found his way back to the chair next to Dean’s bed at Ellen’s insistence.

“Speaking of calls,” Sam says seriously, looking uncomfortable as he attempts to position his gangly teenage limbs in the seat Ellen just vacated on the far wall, “do you think we should call Dad?”

“What for?” Dean scoffs with a roll of his eyes.

“He is our dad, Dean. I think he’d want to know that one of his sons is in the ICU.”

“Yeah?” Dean counters gruffly, “Well if he really wants to know shit like that, maybe he oughtta check in more than once a year. I’ll be sure to let him know when he calls next Christmas.”

“Um, actually, I’ve been talking to him a bit more often recently,” Sam stammers, looking at Dean with wide, nervous eyes.

“Talking to hi—Whatd’ya mean you’ve been talking to him? And how ‘more often’ are we talkin,’ here?” Dean looks completely gobsmacked by this information. Cas gathers that his intuition must have been correct and that the Winchester brothers’ parents are indeed not a part of their current lives…well not a part of _Dean’s_ life, anyway.

“He’s been calling me, a couple times a month, since Christmas.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asks, visibly trying to keep his temper. “And what’s he got to say for himself, huh?”

Sam shrugs. “That he knows he screwed up. That he doesn’t expect us to forgive him, but that he wants to make it right. Mostly, he just wants to know about me. About my life.”

“Funny. He sure as hell ain’t ever said as much to me.”

Sam hesitates. “He said he didn’t think you were ready to talk to him. That you’re still too angry.”

“Of course, I’m angry. He _left us_ , Sam,” Dean roars before flinching and grabbing at his head with both hands.

“Fuck,” he whispers weakly as Cas and Sam both leap to their feet. Instinctively, Cas begins rubbing soothing circles across Dean’s broad shoulders. He leans back into the touch.

“Dean…” Sam says quietly, expression full of worry and pain, but Dean waves him off.

“I’m alright,” he says, waiting for both of them to sit back down. Cas does so, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching Dean, running his hand down Dean’s arm before intertwining their fingers again.

Dean shoots him what looks like a weak, but grateful smile. “Do you want me to give you a minute alone with your brother?” He asks quietly, not wanting Dean to have to reveal any more of his private life than he wants to.

“Nah, you can stay…unless you need to go?” Dean’s face is unreadable, but Cas can see the worry in his eyes. 

“I’ll stay,” Cas answers firmly, giving Dean’s hand a little squeeze.

Dean squeezes back before turning to Sam. “But Sam, you gotta know that’s bullshit, man. Yeah, I’m angry, but that ain’t why he hasn’t called me. He hasn’t called because he’s a coward. Too much of a goddamn coward to face me bein’ angry. He’s the one who’s ‘not ready.’ What brought on this sudden personality change anyways? Cause it sure as hell wasn’t sobriety. I thought maybe when he dried out he’d come back for us, but nope. Just fucked off and found a new family instead.”

Looking suddenly sheepish, Sam answers, “Well, Adam’s about the same age now that I was when…”

Sam trails off, but Dean finishes the thought for him, gripping Cas’ hand tightly as Cas sits there and tries to look like this isn’t all brand new information to him, “When Dad dumped us at his best friend’s house and didn’t look back?”

Sam sighs in clear frustration. “He says that watching Adam grow up, seeing this part of his life, it’s made him realize just how much he missed out on with us.”

“Yeah? Well what about what _we_ missed out on, Sam? Like playin’ Little League? Or havin’ an actual house to live in instead of a seedy motel room? Or hell, how about just startin’ and finishing the year at the same damn elementary school?”

“I know, Dean. I was there too, remember? Look, I know he can’t make up for everything he did…and didn’t do, but I feel like I should at least give him the chance to be the dad we missed out on back then.”

“He had his chance, Sam. As far as I’m concerned, he stopped bein’ my dad when he put us in his rearview outside The Roadhouse that night. Hell, he hadn’t even really _been_ a dad since way before then. Not since Mom died.” Dean swallows and Cas feels an ache deep in his chest for his friend’s loss.

“I _had_ a dad, though,” Dean continues gruffly. “Still do. His name’s Bill Harvelle and he’s done a hell of a lot more for you and me both than John Winchester ever has.”

“That’s not fair,” Sam accuses hotly. “You know Bill means just as much to me as he does to you. Me wanting to get to know Dad isn’t me somehow disrespecting or not appreciating him or Ellen.” Sam pauses. “Or you.”

Cas watches as Dean’s face falls, Sam’s words clearly cutting him.

After a moment of awkward silence, Sam clears his throat. “He wants me to go up and meet them, you know. Kate and Adam,” he clarifies. “This summer, before I go off to school.”

Dean looks at him oddly, “What’s school got to do with it? It’s not like Omaha is any further from Minnesota than Lincoln is.”

Face taking on a suddenly horrified expression, Sam swears, “Shit. This…I was gonna tell you, Dean, soon, but not like this.”

“Tell me _what_ , Sammy?” Dean’s face is suddenly suspicious and Cas finds himself barely breathing as his eyes dart between the two brothers.

Eyes wide and pleading, Sam takes a breath before saying, “That I’m not going to Omaha in the fall. I…I got accepted to Stanford. I’m gonna go there and take pre-law.”

“Stanford?” Dean’s eyes go as round as Sam’s. “Shit, man. We can’t afford Stanford.”

“That’s the best part, Dean,” Sam exclaims, suddenly excited as he leans forward in the hospital chair, “I got an academic scholarship. Well, a few of them, actually. I’ve been applying all year. And now I have enough to cover tuition and I can use student loans to cover most of my room and board. Bill and Ellen said they can cover the rest.”

When Dean fails to look enthused about this, Sam presses on. “Look, I know you’ve been saving money for my college, but now you can use it to pay for moving expenses to,” he hesitates, looking at Cas, “wherever you end up and you won’t have to come back to Nebraska and make tractor parts.”

“But Stanford…that’s all the way in California.”

Dean looks bereft and Cas wishes desperately that there was something he could do to take that look off his face. Instead, he tightens his grip on Dean’s hand.

Face growing stubborn, Sam argues, “I know, but it’s what I want and I deserve the chance to go after what I want. And, so do you.”

He takes a breath before turning beseeching eyes on his brother, begging him to understand. “I know the biggest reason you were planning to come back to Nebraska was for me. I don’t wanna be the thing holding you back, Dean.”

Stone-faced expression softening, Dean rests his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and addressing Sam.

“First off, you ain’t holdin’ me back. Anything I do for you I do because I _want_ to, got it? Not because I have to.”

“I know, Dean. I do,” Sam stresses at Dean’s disbelieving look. “But for once, just once in your entire life, I want you to be able to do something just for you. To make a choice about what _you_ want, without having to think about how it’s going to impact me.”

“Second,” Dean adds loudly, cutting off Sam’s plea, “You’re right.”

“I…” Sam stops, unneeded counterargument frozen on his lips. “I am?”

“Yeah. Not about all of it,” Dean grumbles, “but enough. You deserve to go to Stanford, Sam. Of course you do.” He sighs. “And you deserve to talk to Dad if you want to, without me bein’ a dick about it. Just don’t try to get me to talk to him and we’ll be fine.”

“Of course. I won’t even bring it up,” Sam promises.

Dean raises a clearly disbelieving eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.

Sam opens his mouth, likely to protest and try to convince Dean that he really won’t pester him about making up with their dad, when his cell phone rings in his pocket. Pulling it out, Sam looks apologetically at Dean.

“It’s Madison,” he says. “I promised I’d call her when we got here, but I forgot. Do you mind? I just don’t want her to worry.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean gestures at the door, “Go talk to your girlfriend, Samantha. Swap hair care tips or whatever it is you kids talk about these days.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but stands up and heads for the door. One hand on the doorframe, he turns to look back at the hospital bed. “Thanks, Dean.”

Waving his brother out, Dean sighs deeply and closes his eyes, looking both emotionally and physically drained.

“Well,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I guess you know why I don’t date now.”

Cas squints at him in confusion. “Why is that?”

“Because,” Dean scoffs, “who in their right mind would wanna volunteer for this shit show, Cas? I’m a loser who barely graduated high school with a dead mom, a formerly drunk dad who abandoned me so he could go set up a franchise in fucking Minnesota of all places, and a fucked-up childhood. I’m not exactly cul-de-sac material.”

Before Cas can come up with words to tell Dean just how wrong he is, how it’s not his struggles in life that define him, but the remarkably brave and determined way he’s handled each one, Ellen pokes her head back in the door.

“I know you ain’t talkin’ about my son like that,” she says severely, though her eyes hold nothing but fondness and a sad kind of warmth.

“How long you been standing there?” Dean asks with a rueful smile.

“Long enough to know how damn proud I am to have had a hand in raisin’ you.” Ellen grins. “I did good.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but flushes as Ellen leans in to kiss his cheek and Cas feels his heart somersault in his chest. And here he’d thought he couldn’t possibly fall any _more_ in love with Dean. Apparently, he was wrong.

Smoothing over Dean’s bedclothes, Ellen says, “I’m gonna take Sammy to grab some lunch. You want us to sneak you something in?”

“My kingdom for a burger and fries, Ell, even though it won’t be nearly as good as yours.”

“Flatterer,” Ellen teases. “Good thing too. I happen to know your ‘kingdom’ is mostly smelly gym clothes and band posters. All right, Sam and I are heading out and I think it’s time for _both_ of you to get some rest,” she says, shooting pointed looks at both college students.

Cas smiles sheepishly. “I suppose your aunt’s right.”

“She usually is, unfortunately,” Dean quips.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow?” Cas asks and Dean nods, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. Thanks, Cas.”

Cas isn’t quite sure what possesses him to do it. It’s certainly not the need to put on a boyfriendly ruse for Ellen, though that’s the lie he’ll tell himself later.

Perhaps it’s because Dean’s earlier insults to himself are still bouncing around Cas’ head as and he feels like his own skull may crack from the pressure if he doesn’t do _something_ to let Dean know how wonderful, how amazing, how _good_ Cas knows him to be.

Maybe it’s because Dean still looks a little lost, lying there in that hospital bed, likes he doesn’t quite believe Cas really is coming back.

Maybe Dean needs the reassurance. Maybe they both do.

Whatever it is, Cas finds himself surprising them both by reaching out with his free hand to lightly cup Dean’s stubbled jaw. He runs a gentle thumb across yesterday’s scruff before his mouth follows, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lips before squeezing their clasped hands a final time and stepping back toward the door.

“Of course, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for head injury, hospital scenes, and brief descriptions of violence/physical assault. Nothing graphic or life threatening.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean stares at the plain, eggshell-hued hospital wall for several minutes after Cas and Ellen leave, his mind equally blank, short-circuited by the feeling of warm, dry lips pressed against his own.

Cas kissed him.

Cas kissed him and it wasn’t anything like the previous kisses they’d shared, that first night that seems so long ago now. Those kisses had been all alcohol-fueled desperation and lust-driven heat. Not that Dean had any complaints. Each one was fucking awesome and something he’s been attempting to recreate ever since, that’s how he got into this mess after all.

This, though, this kiss had been something different, something unexpected. It was gentle and comforting and soft. It wasn’t a taking kiss, the kind with motive or intent, meant to seduce or tease.

This kiss gave.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s sitting in a goddamn hospital bed, waxing poetic about kisses now? He really does have a head injury.

Dean rubs a tired hand over his eyes. That kiss gave, alright. Damn near gave him a heart attack is what it did. He’s pretty sure he managed to look like it wasn’t a total shock to his system. Like he kisses his best friend like that every day, because of course, why wouldn’t he? Since, as far as Ellen and Sam (and Coach Singer and the entire staff at this second-rate county hospital) are concerned, Cas is his _boyfriend._

That was a boyfriend kiss, his clearly damaged gray matter supplies helpfully.

Except Cas is _not_ his boyfriend and Dean’s not quite sure why he kept up that lie in front of his family. Sure, he gets why Cas and Charlie told the hospital they’re a couple and he’s glad they did. Having Cas with him today has made this entire experience a lot less shitty than it could have been. He even gets why Cas would have been reluctant to tell Coach the truth, not knowing him and how he’d react. Hell, Dean hadn’t even been sure how Coach would react. He trusts the guy, of course he does, but Bobby Singer _is_ a university employee and Dean’s not entirely sure the coach could have (or would have) lied to the hospital for them, not to mention, it wouldn’t have been right to put him in that kind of position in the first place.

Dean’s family, though? He could have explained it to them. Easily. They’d have understood. Hell, Ellen probably would have thanked Cas for what he did.

So, why had Dean lied? Why had he carried on letting two of the most important people in his world believe he was dating his best friend?

Remembering pleased smirk on Ellen’s face when she said she’d been catching up with Dean’s _boyfriend_ and Sammy’s far more obvious excitable puppy look, Dean knows why. They’d looked so _happy_ for Dean, so proud of him. He couldn’t bear to see their faces drop in disappointment when they learned that he was still the same guy he’d always been, diving into hook-up after hook-up, but always keeping to the shallow end of the emotional kiddie pool. Definitely not the kind of guy who could end up in a relationship with someone with Cas’ intelligence and depth. Dude’s not just out of Dean’s league, they’re barely playing the same sport.

But that doesn’t matter, because Dean doesn’t want a boyfriend anyway.

 _Sure you don’t_ , his brain taunts him. _That’s why you spent the entire day holding hands with the only person you’ve even thought about sleeping with for the past two months._

Dean threatens to go throw himself head-first into the ice again.

He can’t date Cas anyways. They graduate in less than eight weeks. And then Dean’s…Dean’s what? Going back to Nebraska? To do what, just sit around and wait for Sam to leave him for Stanford?

He’d have Bill and Ellen and Jo, of course, but even as fiercely as Dean loves them, he knows Sam was right. Dean was planning on going back to Nebraska for him. Partly because he missed him, sure, but also because “taking care of Sammy” is such a deeply ingrained part of Dean’s personality at this point that he never even gave consideration to anything else.

And now Dean finds himself with an entire future to plan.

So caught up in his thoughts and worries about the future he never thought he’d have, Dean’s not able to get his much needed rest until the nurse comes by an hour later to top off his pain meds.

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s back to staring at that same godforsaken eggshell wall, thanks to his concussion and the doctors’ strict prohibition on screen time. He still manages to be taken by surprise though, when Cas unexpectedly sits a steaming _Coffee on Main_ cup down next to his breakfast plate on the rolling tray table.

Swallowing down a mouthful of powdered scrambled eggs that are somehow even worse than the university’s, Dean wraps both hands around the warm paper cup with a grateful sigh. The hospital’s coffee somehow smells more like eggs than the eggs do.

“Dude. I could kiss you right now,” Dean says automatically as he lifts the cup, suddenly freezing with the black lid still inches from his lips as what he just said registers.

A couple heartbeats of awkward, terrifying silence pass before Cas clears his throat. “Ah, about yesterday,” he begins slowly as if unsure of where to go from there.

“Um, yeah. About that,” Dean adds helpfully, hunkering down behind his coffee cup like the coward he is, eyes glued to the suddenly fascinating _Coffee on Main_ logo (a blatant rip-off of the _Central Perk_ logo from _Friends_ ).

“Mornin’ boys!” A cheery voice fills the room.

Dean and Cas both slump in relief, breath leaving them in a soft whoosh as they’re rescued from their awkwardness by Donna’s Minnesotan accent.

“Cas, I’m glad I got the chance to see ya again. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to say goodbye before we kick this big lug outta here and down to a regular room.”

“Really?” Dean perks up, setting his coffee down with a grin. Getting out of ICU is one step closer to getting out of the hospital and Dean is more than ready for that.

“Oh, you betcha. You’re stable, all your scans yesterday showed improvement, and you know how many fingers I’m holdin’ up,” Donna teases with a wink. “You’ll probably still be here another night for observation, but with any luck, you could be headed home tomorrow.”

“That’s awesome,” Dean responds with a grin before taking a careful sip of his cooling coffee.

“Yes, Donna, thank you. For everything,” Cas says emphatically and Dean feels a sudden pang for the friend who sat alone by his bedside all night long, while Dean lay there unconscious.

He swallows his coffee.

“Yeah, thanks, Donna,” he says sincerely, though his eyes can’t seem to leave Cas, whose own blue eyes are focused on his lap, “for takin’ care of both of us.”

Cas looks up in surprise, but Dean doesn’t get to decipher the expression on his face before Donna interrupts the moment with a cheerful, “It was my pleasure. After all, it’s not every night I get to take care of a couple a cutie-patooties like you.”

Dean beams and Cas sighs.

“Don’t encourage him,” his friend responds resignedly.

“I think I’m adorable,” Dean says primly as Donna chuckles.

“Yes. That’s my point exactly.”

They continue their playful bickering until Ellen and Sam show up, just in time to follow Dean, who gets to sit up in an actual wheelchair this time, as he’s wheeled to his new room two floors down. They make quite the procession through the hospital and as they pass a shamrock-decorated nurse’s station, Dean chuckles to himself. He may have missed St. Paddy’s Day in the city, but it looks like he still gets a parade. Sammy’s too tall to be a leprechaun, but he’s got the hair for one. And between him and Cas, they’ve definitely got the rainbow covered.

Dean’s still thinking about his (possibly pain killer-induced) parade fantasies when they arrive at his new room. It’s not a private room, but thankfully the other bed is empty. And instead of eggshell white, Dean now gets to stare at split-pea green. Nice of them to stay on-theme with the holiday, he thinks glumly.

The day, however, ends up involving far less wall-staring than Dean had feared. Ellen and Sam visit until after eleven, then insist on taking Cas out for lunch while Dean naps. Though they exchange matching fearful, wide-eyed looks (much to Ellen’s apparent amusement), neither Dean nor Cas are able to come up with a reasonable excuse for Cas to decline.

 _Godspeed, Buddy,_ Dean thinks as he watches Ellen gently propel a reluctant Cas ahead of her through the doorway. Cas comes back in one piece an hour and a half later, however, and looking relatively unscathed, though he does blush a deep and adorable fuchsia when he first meets Dean’s eyes. Dean doesn’t get the chance to demand to know what his family put the poor guy through over their Chipotle though, because Coach Singer chooses that moment to turn up for a visit.

Thankfully, Coach keeps it short. As much respect as Dean has for the man, neither of them really seem to know what to say to the other when Coach isn’t calling him a princess or prom queen (or, on one memorable occasion, a quinceñara) and asking him if this is his first day playing hockey. Plus, Coach seems a little nervous under the watchful, hawk-like eye of his pseudo-mother, a sentiment Dean can wholeheartedly sympathize with, but finds entertaining nonetheless.

Singer is no sooner out the door than Dean’s next visitors arrive, Charlie carrying a bunch of those shiny mylar “Get Well Soon” balloons and Gabe, to no one’s surprise, wielding a gift basket whose sugar content would make even Willy Wonka cringe. His friends are warmly greeted by both his aunt and Sam, Ellen even pulling Charlie into a hug when she learns that Charlie witnessed Dean’s attack. Dean hugs Charlie too, of course, planting a kiss on her ginger locks when he hears her sniffle against his chest.

“It’s okay, Charlie,” he soothes. “I’m okay.”

He’s not expecting it when Charlie punches him in the arm. “Don’t do that again.”

“Ouch,” Dean yelps, rubbing his bicep. “What’re you hittin’ me for? It’s not like I knocked myself out!”

All in all, it’s not a bad way to pass the time if he’s gotta be stuck in the hospital and Dean enjoys having his friends and family all in one place for once, despite the lingering pain in his head and the bouts of dizziness and nausea that plague him throughout the day. 

Warm fuzzy feelings aside, the day’s activities do leave Dean feeling incredibly fucking exhausted though, which is what he blames for allowing what happens next.

“I’d just feel better if you had a roommate, is all,” Ellen argues, “Someone to be nearby in case your symptoms get worse or you do some damn fool thing and end up knockin’ yourself out again.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Ell,” Dean counters sarcastically.

“She’s got a point, Dean-O,” Gabe says reasonably, which immediately sets Dean on edge. “Concussions can be nasty things. One minute you feel okay and then the next, you’re curled up in the fetal position, wondering if you’ll be able to make it to your Tylenol without hurling.”

Dean grimaces. The doctors had warned him about the concussion symptoms he’s going to continue to experience for at least the next couple weeks and even the possibility of something called “post-concussion syndrome” that could take Dean’s recovery from weeks to months. But none of it matters, because…

“I _don’t_ have a roommate though and I can’t just pack up and go home with less than two months left in my final semester,” he warns, looking pointedly at Ellen, who appears about thirty seconds from boxing Dean up and carting him back to Nebraska, graduation or no graduation.

“Gee,” Gabe says with faux-sweetness, “it’s too bad there’s no one who could, I don’t know, maybe stay with you at your apartment for a few weeks. You know, like someone you hang out with a lot, who would normally be there anyway. Someone like—”

“A boyfriend?” Charlie chimes in helpfully, both she and Gabe determinedly ignoring the subtle glares their other two friends are steadily trying to use to set them on fire.

It hadn’t taken long for the “boyfriend” ruse to become apparent to Gabe and Charlie. Especially given that Ellen opened their conversation by exclaiming, “Well look at that! First time I’ve met anyone from school but Dean’s coach in four years and now I get to meet his boyfriend and two best friends all in one trip. Maybe you oughtta end up in the hospital more often, kid.”

Charlie’s eyes had widened dramatically at the announcement, but thankfully, she hadn’t said anything. Gabe had just twirled the stick of the lollipop he’d stolen from Dean’s gift basket in his mouth and adopted a Cheshire Cat grin.

“He’s right, Dean,” Sammy cuts in and Gabe preens. Dean has to fight the urge to throw things at him. “I’m sure Cas wouldn’t mind staying at your place for a couple weeks, just in case. Unless, of course, it’s ‘too new.’” Sam looks at Dean challengingly, as if he’s daring Dean to dump Cas and revert back to his commitment-phobic, man-whore ways right then and there.

“Well, it is new,” Dean grumbles under his breath, “really new.”

“Still, I bet Cas wouldn’t mind, would you, Cas?” Sam turns his puppy eyes on Cas and oh no, that’s just playing dirty. Dean _knows_ the power of those eyes.

“Sam,” he cuts in sharply, “don’t be puttin’ him on the spot like that. I might not have taught you any manners, but I know damn well Ellen did.”

“Only because I tried ’em on you first and they didn’t take,” Ellen snarks affectionately before turning to Sam. “Dean’s right though, kid, you can’t—”

“I wouldn’t,” Cas interrupts, blushing when all eyes in the room turn to him.

“You wouldn’t what?” Dean asks carefully.

“Mind,” Cas clears his throat, “staying with you, that is.”

Dean’s mouth falls open.

“Dean, the attack, when you fell, you hit the ice…hard,” Cas swallows. “I think we’d all feel better knowing you aren’t alone. At least not at first. Unless, of course, it makes you uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want to presume…”

Cas looks so acutely miserable that Dean has to fight the urge to gather him up and kiss that look off his face right there in front of their friends and family. Instead, he reaches over and takes Cas’ hand again, giving it a squeeze so Cas will meet his eyes.

“Hey, of course I’m not uncomfortable,” Dean lies. He’s all kinds of uncomfortable with this, just not for any of the reasons Cas thinks. “I still say I don’t need a babysitter,” he glares at Sam and Ellen, “but I ain’t gonna say no to spendin’ more time with you.” And isn’t _that_ the truth?

“Well, that settles it then,” Ellen says, slapping Dean on the leg and looking relieved. For his part, Sam looks entirely too pleased with himself and Gabe and Charlie both look like Santa just brought them that pony they’ve always wanted (Gabe’s is made of chocolate, of course).

Dean hates his friends.

He finds himself disappointed a short time later when Ellen and Sam are the first to head out and not only because they’ll be leaving to make their way back to Lincoln early in the morning. Their leaving first means there’s no reason for Dean and Cas to continue their boyfriend charade…and therefore no chance of Dean snagging another soft, sweet, completely confusing goodnight kiss.

As he watches Cas hug his adoptive-aunt and brother goodbye though, something warm and molten rises up inside his chest. Something new and exciting and utterly goddamn terrifying, so Dean shoves it back down, smashing a boot in its face for good measure before closing the lid to that particular Pandora’s box and sitting on top of it.

Gabe and Charlie leave soon after, Charlie having a hushed conversation with Cas as they hug goodbye.

Saying his goodbyes to Gabe, Dean tries not to listen, but he can’t help overhearing the tail end of their conversation as Charlie pulls back.

“…west coast, even one in Austin. I’ve heard good things about Austin. They’ve got a great LGBT community there!”

Dean frowns to himself. They must be talking about the job opportunities Charlie’s been trying to convince Cas to apply for all semester. He swallows. Looks like Sam won’t be the only one leaving Dean behind and heading west.

Shaking himself internally as Cas’ eyes find his, Dean grins brightly before quickly turning away, not wanting to look like the eavesdropper he so clearly is. Where Cas goes after graduation is none of Dean’s business, after all. He’s always known their lives would take them different directions come May.

The fact that Dean suddenly wishes it _were_ his business is neither here nor there.

He’s still nodding along distractedly to Gabe’s animated retelling of his and Kali’s latest spat and, Dean cringes, reconciliation, when Charlie throws her arms around him in a fierce hug.

“You’re not gonna hit me again, are you?” he jokes as he wraps his arms around the redhead’s tiny frame.

“I love you,” Charlie answers and Dean swallows, glancing at Cas and wondering once again just how bad that attack really was from his friends’ point of view.

“I know,” he murmurs solemnly into Charlie’s hair, earning a snort in return for the Star Wars reference.

“You are so not Solo,” Charlie snarks.

“Fine by me,” he quips in return, “I’d look killer in that gold bikini.” He tosses Cas a wink and could swear the guy blushes in return.

“I could definitely track one of those down,” Gabe supplies helpfully, snagging two more pieces of candy from Dean’s gift basket.

Dean’s chuckling as his friends finally make their way toward the door. At least, until Charlie spins around with a dangerous grin.

“And oh, you two have fun figuring out your sleeping arrangements for Dean’s apartment tomorrow. You know, since there’s _only one bed._ ” Looking like the cat that ate the canary, Charlie skips out of the baby-vomit colored hospital room.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Cas says quickly.

Dean rolls his eyes. “We’ll figure it out.” Like hell is he letting Cas sleep on that smelly, second-hand sofa with its broken-down cushions and questionable stains.

“I don’t have to stay at all if you really don’t want me to,” Cas continues nervously. “We can just let your family believe I’m there if it makes them feel better.”

Dean stares at Cas for a minute, seeing his friend’s down-turned eyes, something he’s noticed Cas does whenever he’s embarrassed or uncomfortable.

Nudging Cas’ shoulder and dipping his head to catch those baby-blues he asks, “Did you mean it?”

At Cas’ confused head tilt, he clarifies, “What you said about feeling better knowing I wasn’t home alone?”

Cas licks his lips and Dean fights valiantly not to let it distract him.

“I…yes.”

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

Cas doesn’t answer, just stares at Dean for a long second, midnight eyes searching until a buzzing draws both of their gazes to Dean’s bedside table. He grins at the bouncing blonde ponytail filling up his screen.

“It’s Jo,” he explains, drawing a soft smile from Cas that has Dean looking away quickly before he can end up blushing at the fondness in that expression.

“Hey, Kid,” Dean says warmly after swiping up to take Jo’s video call. The blonde ponytail whips around as the six-year-old turns to face the camera.

“Dean! Mom called and said that your visitors are leaving and that I could call you now but to make it quick because you need your rest,” she rattles off without taking a breath and Dean chuckles.

“She’s not wrong, kiddo, but I’ll always make time to talk to my favorite girl.”

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Cas says with a quiet smile, moving to stand up from the vinyl chair.

“Who’s that?” Jo immediately asks, adorably craning her neck like that’s somehow going to allow her to see more of Dean’s hospital room through the phone’s screen.

“That’s Cas,” Dean explains simply, turning the phone toward Cas, who offers an awkward wave.

“Hello, Jo,” Cas intones, sounding like he’s never spoken to someone whose age has fewer than two digits before. Dean can’t help his grin.

“Oh, _you’re_ Cas,” comes Jo’s response, causing both men’s eyebrows to lift in surprise, though Dean’s not sure why he’s surprised. Of course, Ellen would have told Bill all about Cas, no doubt with Jo eavesdropping on the other side of the door.

“Um, yes?”

“Are you really Dean’s boyfriend?” Jo asks shrewdly, narrowing her eyes at Dean’s friend. Cas looks wide-eyed to Dean for help, who shrugs back. Hell if he knows how to handle this. Like the coward he is, Dean stays behind the phone, keeping it firmly aimed at Cas and throwing him to the proverbial My-Little-Pony-playing wolf on the other side.

Cas settles back in his chair. “Why do you ask?”

Ooh, answering a question with a question. Good one, Cas. Making an impressed face, Dean nods.

“Because, Dean’s never had a boyfriend before. It’s weird.” Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair, face heating, but Cas just smiles softly at him over the phone before looking seriously back at Jo.

“Is it weird because I’m a boy?”

Jo’s forehead scrunches in confusion. “If you were a girl, you couldn’t be Dean’s _boy_ friend, silly.”

“No,” Cas chuckles, “I meant, would it be less weird if Dean had a girlfriend?”

Jo thinks about that for a long second, before wrinkling her nose. “No. That’d be weirder.”

Dean tilts his own head in confusion, stifling a laugh as Cas’ lips twitch.

“I think so too,” Cas agrees with Jo conspiratorially and Dean rolls his eyes with a grin for his very-much-homosexual friend.

“If you’re Dean’s boyfriend, does that mean you kiss him and stuff?” Cas blushes faintly and Dean wonders if he’s remembering that gentle kiss he gave Dean yesterday too.

“I have kissed Dean, yes,” Cas replies carefully and Dean feels a surge of gratitude for how delicately Cas is navigating this conversation with Jo, answering all of her questions without actually lying to the little girl that holds such a big place in Dean’s heart.

That warm feeling from earlier begins to seep through Dean’s chest again, but this time, he has a harder time pushing it back.

“I think kissing boys is gross,” Jo says emphatically and Dean can’t resist chiming in.

“Keep that mindset,” he says with mock seriousness and he can _feel_ Jo’s six-year-old eye roll through the phone.

Cas chuckles again. “You may change your mind on that someday,” he says, “but if you don’t, that’s okay too.”

The warm feeling expands, threatening to overwhelm Dean completely.

“Tell me a secret about Dean,” Jo demands and Cas’ face scrunches in confusion.

“Why?”

“Because,” Jo explains, “My mom says that a boyfriend or girlfriend is like an extra special friend who knows you better than anyone else. So, if you’re Dean’s boyfriend, you have to know things about him that no one else does.”

Cas stops to think for a moment, before looking at Jo seriously.

“Okay. I have one, but it’s one of Dean’s biggest secrets, so you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Jo’s eyes go round with excitement and she nods eagerly. “I promise.”

Dean finds himself suddenly nervous. What the hell could Cas be about to tell her?

Cas leans toward the phone, face grave as he looks left and right, seemingly making sure the coast is clear before he spills Dean’s deepest, darkest secret.

“Dean’s favorite My Little Pony is Applejack,” Cas says in a stage whisper.

Jo squeals in excitement. “You know My Little Ponies?”

Watching as Cas and his adopted kid-sister discuss the finer points of My Little Pony lore, Dean feels warmed from his head to his toes at the way Cas treats the passions of a six-year-old girl with the same gravity and respect he gives to programming or politics or any other more grown-up pursuit.

It’s as their debating whether Discord makes a better nemesis or friend to the ponies that Dean realizes the conversation has moved far beyond what he’d told Cas about the MLP universe that day in Dean’s bedroom.

“Dude, how do you even know all this stuff?”

Cas shrugs, “I got the feeling during our conversation that you were leaving some things out, so I did some research of my own. They’ve had some impressive acting talent on that show.”

His voice sounds a little too innocent for Dean’s liking.

“You wanted to see what Applejack looks like, didn’t you?”

Cas grins. “Yes. I wanted to see what Applejack looks like. I have to admit, I like Pride Pony better.”

He tosses Jo a conspiratorial wink and she giggles, even though Dean’s sure she only half-understood their exchange. His adopted kid sister seems half-enamored with Cas already and suddenly Dean realizes he’s got a much bigger secret than a country pony with an apple-shaped cutie mark. One not even Cas knows. 

Dean’s secretly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend.

“Really, Dean, it’s fine. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

“Cas, that couch was already secondhand when I bought it, ‘bought’ being a stretch here, considering I traded a six-pack and a large pepperoni for the thing. Its ass-prints have ass-prints, there’s a mystery stain on the middle cushion, and it smells like someone’s great-aunt Mabel died on it.”

“Still…”

“Get in the damn bed.”

Cas sighs and walks around to the far side of Dean’s queen-sized bed, sliding under the covers but leaving a quite obvious distance between himself and Dean, who’s sitting propped up against the headboard and giving Cas a very non-plussed look.

“Seriously? I don’t bite…well, not unless you ask real nice.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and Cas relaxes minutely, rolling his eyes and chuckling at Dean’s familiar teasing. There’s been a distinct lack of that since they started pretending to be “boyfriends” at the hospital and Cas wasn’t entirely sure what it meant.

“Don’t forget, the doctors said no vigorous activity.”

“We certainly were _vigorous,_ weren’t we?” Dean hums wistfully before glancing back at Cas and sobering. “Is this really too weird for you? I know I joke around a lot, but I don’t _actually_ wanna do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Cas bites back the second sigh threatening to escape, knowing Dean will interpret it the wrong way. How does he explain to his friend that what’s making him uncomfortable is just how _not_ uncomfortable this is?

They’re both fully dressed in t-shirts and sweatpants and yet lying in bed together like this, preparing to just sleep next to one another, somehow feels _more_ intimate than the two of them falling asleep naked after a night of very enthusiastic sex. And even more discomfiting is just how _right_ that feels.

He feels like he _belongs_ in Dean’s bed. And that feeling certainly isn’t helped by the fact that his lunch with Ellen and Sam had all but confirmed what Dean’s teammates hinted at that day in the dining hall a couple of weeks ago, that no one else has been in this bed with Dean since he last was.

Cas had been anxious when Sam invited him to lunch, which had absolutely nothing on the feeling of pure, unadulterated terror he’d experienced when he tried to decline and Ellen _insisted_ with that dangerous mama-bear glint in her eye.

 _Dean_ , of course, had been no help at all, just giving Cas his own petrified look and helpless shrug as Ellen bundled him from the room. And that’s how Cas ended up at Chipotle, being grilled even more thoroughly than the overcooked steak in his burrito bowl.

By the time Ellen had finished asking Cas all about his hometown, his family, and his major, Cas was fairly certain she and Sam knew more about him than Dean. Maybe even more than Charlie and Gabe. That still didn’t stop her, though, from asking Cas about his after-college plans, something he got the feeling she’d been building up to the entire conversation.

He’s still not quite sure how it happened, but he ended up telling her the story Derek and Sandover, while wondering if Sam and Dean have ever once managed to keep something from this woman. Probably not, he’d thought with a sympathetic look at the teenager.

It was Sam who’d asked the same question Dean had a few weeks back.

“So, what are you gonna do, Cas?”

“Well, I’ve sent in applications to several companies on both the east and west coasts, ones in businesses that are outside of my non-compete restrictions from Sandover, plus some military and government organizations. Our friend Charlie has contacts at a few of them and she’s trying to set up virtual interviews for me before graduation. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

Ellen had looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before turning her attention back to her burrito as she said, “I’m guessin’ with a degree like computer science, there are probably more prospects for you near a big city.”

“There are jobs in less urban areas too, of course, but yes, there are definitely more opportunities in the larger cities.”

Sam had sighed, picking at his salad. “I’ve been trying to convince Dean of the same thing about mechanical engineering for two years now, but he wouldn’t hear it. Now though, maybe he’ll finally get his head out of his…behind,” he hedged at Ellen’s sharp glare, “and listen. It’s perfect, really, that he has you now Cas, with me going to Stanford and all. The two of you could get jobs in the same city and move there together!”

Choking on his salad, Cas had been wracking his brain, trying to think up a suitable response to _that_ when Sam had rushed on, “I know it’s _new_ or whatever,” Sam said, rolling his eyes, “but trust me, Cas, my brother’s crazy about you. And you’re _obviously_ just as into him.”

“Really?” he’d asked hoarsely, clearing his throat. “The first part I mean.” He knew he was blushing, but he didn’t see the point in denying the second half of Sam’s statement. He was right, after all. Cas just hoped his feelings weren’t as obvious to Dean as they apparently were to his family.

Ellen had snorted. “I haven’t seen that boy this twitter-pated since he fell for his first real girlfriend, Cassie, his sophomore year of high school.”

“Must have a thing for the name,” Sam joked with a grin. “Seriously though, Dean used to have a lot of…” Sam eyed Ellen, choosing his words carefully even as she rolled her eyes, “ _dates_ , but I haven’t heard about anyone but you all semester.”

Sam’s words had stuck with Cas all the way back to the hospital and have, in fact, been bouncing around inside his head ever since. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Dean had been spending every weekend evening he wasn’t away for a game with Cas and their friends, instead of out at the local bars and clubs, but he had very deliberately not let himself think about the implications of that fact.

Now, though, lying here in Dean’s bed, looking at the soft reflection of the lamplight in Dean’s olive eyes and the way his favorite, faded Led Zepplin t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders, Cas feels a possessive thrill shiver through him. Even if Dean doesn’t want a romantic relationship with him, he still wants Cas enough and, Cas is fairly certain by this point, enjoys his company enough that he hasn’t brought anyone else back here in months.

“Dean, if you making a sex joke about the two of us made me uncomfortable, this friendship would have been over before it even began.”

“Not that, you doofus, _this_ ,” Dean gestures to the very careful foot-long space Cas has left between them as he slides down his stack of pillows to lie properly in the bed, turning on his side to face Cas. “If you really don’t wanna sleep in here, dude, you don’t have to.”

“Of course I want to,” Cas’ mouth answers entirely without his permission. He flushes what he’s certain must be an incredibly unattractive shade of maroon when Dean grins.

“I just meant—”

He tries desperately to course correct, but Dean cuts him off with a wave and a chuckle, though he’s still wearing that shit-eating grin. “Yeah, dude. I know what you meant.”

“Fine,” Cas grumbles, flopping down on his side to face Dean and eliminating several of the inches dividing them with a huff. “Don’t blame me if you get elbowed in your broken head in the middle of the night. It’s amazing it managed to crack at all, as thick as it is.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dean says cheerfully, turning over to switch off the blocky wooden lamp sitting on the lone nightstand on his side of the bed and plunging the room into darkness. Darkness, except for the distracting sliver of moonlight that falls diagonal across the blankets, connecting the two men and reminding Cas of another moonlit night in this bed. He sighs.

It’s a long time before he finally drifts off, though it feels like no time at all before he’s awoken by the text notification on the phone he forgot to silence last night.

Hauling himself over to the dresser where his smartphone is currently charging, he picks up the phone to see a text message from Charlie.

>> _I’ve set up those interviews for two weeks from Tuesday, dude. I told them you had a family emergency, but I can’t put them off any further than that. We’ll meet at my place, after your last class. Do not let me down!!_

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Cas recalls he and Charlie’s whispered conversation as they hugged goodbye in Dean’s hospital room Sunday.

“So, I know this is crap timing, but dude, my inbox has been blowing up from the contacts I sent your resume to! They loved the description I sent them of your app design and they wanna talk to you. I can easily have like 5 Zoom interviews set up for you within a week. We can make a day of it!”

“Where are they located?” Cas asked, genuinely shocked that Charlie had not just one or two, but apparently _five_ companies interested in interviewing him. It seemed that even stolen, the app he’d designed with his asshole ex might land him a job after all.

Charlie had shrugged. “All over. East coast, west coast, even one in Austin. I’ve heard good things about Austin,” she added with an eyebrow waggle. “They’ve got a great LGBT community there!”

Cas had smiled, trying to drum up some enthusiasm through his shock, given all the trouble his friend had gone to for him. Charlie’s excited whispers had drawn Dean’s eyes from across the room, but when Cas looked at him, he’d just grinned and turned back to his conversation with Gabe.

“Just…give me a few days to think about it,” Cas hedged, avoiding Charlie’s knowing look.

Now, he looks across the room to see Dean, half of his hair sticking up sideways and his lips parted in sleep, the bedsheets shoved down and tangled around his legs, revealing a tiny sliver of tummy between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of his gray sweatpants.

Austin…

He slips his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants and heads to the kitchen in search of coffee.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter end notes for warnings.

“Caaaas. I’m bored,” Dean whines, lying across the sofa with his feet propped up on his not-boyfriend’s lap.

Cas, his open laptop balanced on Dean’s shins and his own socked feet resting on Dean’s circa 1975 coffee table, raises an eyebrow, “Is there something you’d like me to do about that, Dean?”

Dean has to suppress a shiver.

_So. Many. Things._

Seriously, Dean has a list. Living with Cas has been great, except for the fact that he’s _living with Cas_ , the only best friend Dean’s ever had and also, apparently, the only person Dean’s ever been in love with. Being this close to Cas, being able to look but not touch (the ankles and calves currently draped across Cas’ thighs aside, of course), is driving Dean almost as crazy as being cooped up in this apartment has been.

The knowledge that in addition to sharing his sofa and his bed, Cas is using other intimate spaces in Dean’s apartment, like for instance the shower, even if he is a snarky asshole about it _(“Dean, do you have a shower poufy in here?” “Fuck you, Cas. It’s my man sponge!”_ ) is driving Dean to distraction.

He hasn’t jerked off this much since he was fourteen and hiding Victoria’s Secret catalogues under his mattress.

Today was his first day back at classes after two weeks of house arrest and if there’s anything that can make a Monday worse, it’s a concussion. Dean had started out feeling great, but by midday, his head was killing him and he spent most of his one o’clock with his eyes closed. Cas had called him after Dean didn’t reply to his last three text messages and even though Dean assured him he was fine, the strain must have been clear in his voice because Cas immediately ordered him home.

Twenty minutes later, Dean was on the couch, throbbing head cushioned by the pillow from his bed, with Cas feeding him Tylenol and covering his eyes with a soothing warm washcloth. There’s no freaking way Dean deserves someone like Cas, a thought which is doing absolutely nothing for Dean’s current frustration level, especially now that the meds have kicked in and he’s feeling antsy and restless once more.

He clears his throat. “Actually, there is something I was thinkin’ about…”

Cas pauses in his typing, dropping his feet to the floor so he can lean forward and set his computer on the coffee table, resting his free hand on Dean’s legs so he doesn’t dislodge them. Dean’s never been so happy to be a poor-as-fuck college student who can’t afford proper living room furniture.

The heat of Cas’ palm curling around him heats far more than just Dean’s leg, especially when Cas _leaves_ his hand there.

 _Christ_ , Dean’s getting turned on by a totally innocent, below-the-knee hand on his leg now? So what if Dean can picture _exactly_ how those long, tan fingers would look wrapped around another aching part of his anatomy? Fingers that have touched Dean there before…that have been _inside_ Dean…

With heroic effort, Dean grips his filthy, perverted mind tight and hauls it out of the gutter.

“I was thinkin’ about goin’ to practice this afternoon. Not to play,” he adds hurriedly at Cas’ widened eyes. “Just to watch. Y’know, to support the team or whatever, since I can’t go to their games.”

Dean’s both bitter and more than a little relieved about that. This past weekend’s playoff game was in Denver, while next weekend they’ll be at Western Michigan, in Kalamazoo. Dean’s not a great flier at the best of times. Pressure changes while concussed? Yeah. No way is that happening.

Though he feels guilty as shit about it, a not-small part of him is glad to have a viable medical excuse for missing those games. He may have accepted the fact that his hockey career is over, but that doesn’t mean he’s made his peace with it. His stomach turns over uncomfortably even now, thinking about watching his team practice from the sidelines, knowing that even though he still has his jersey, he’s not really one of them anymore.

That’s why he takes a deep breath, swallows his pride, and asks Cas what he’s been working up to. “I was wondering if you’d, uh,” Dean licks his lips, “be willing to come with me?”

He can’t quite manage to drag his eyes up from where they’re focused on Cas’ arm, now resting atop Dean’s shins, his legs making up the middle of a Cas sandwich. A Caswich?

“I get it if you got work to do or whatever. I just thought it might be nice to have someone to talk to while the guys are on the ice, but I mean, I can go by myself too. It’s not a big deal…”

“Dean.” Cas cuts off Dean’s rambling with a squeeze to his leg. “Of course I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” Dean does look up at Cas now, praying his face doesn’t look as pathetically hopeful as he feels.

“Yes, though you’ll probably have to explain what’s happening to me.” Looking suddenly sheepish, he continues, “I spent half of your game on my phone, trying to figure out what was going on. It turns out hockey’s a lot more complex than it appears.”

“ _That’s_ what you were doing?” Dean presses his head back against his pillow as he belts out an incredulous laugh.

“Why? What did you think I was doing?” Cas asks lightly, head slightly tilted as he waits for Dean’s answer.

“I dunno, man. Fuckin’ around on Facebook or something. Thought maybe the game was boring you.”

Dean lets the “Thought _I_ was boring you” go unsaid, but Cas catches it anyway.

“Trust me, Dean. Nothing you do is boring,” Cas mumbles and Dean swears he feels his goddamn heart skip in his chest.

As they drive toward the arena, Baby’s windows cracked to let in the cool spring breeze, Dean can’t help but watch the way it ruffles Cas’ constant bed head while the man frowns at the scenery beyond the glass. He looks pensive and Dean wonders if Cas is thinking about any of the number of thoughts and worries that plague Dean on an almost hourly basis.

What is he going to do after graduation? What is he going to do about Cas? What is he going to do about Cas _after_ graduation? Is that even something Cas would be interested in? Dean’s pretty sure they’ve moved beyond “just friends _”_ territory, sleeping together or not, but he still doesn’t know if Cas would even want to start any kind of relationship with him now, with graduation looming overhead. The only way Dean’s going to find out is to actually break down and _talk_ to his friend, loathe though he may be to admit it.

Tonight. After practice, he and Cas will go out for burgers and milkshakes and Dean will tell Cas he was a fucking moron for ever having something as stupid as a “one-night rule,” because one night with Cas was never going to be enough. _Fuck._ Thousands of nights with him aren’t going to be enough, Dean’s pretty sure.

Hopefully, that won’t scare Cas off and he’ll be willing to talk to Dean, because they have a hell of a lot to talk about, starting with why the hell Sammy’s now emailing Dean links for mechanical engineering _and_ computer programming jobs and ending with the folded letter with the Boeing logo still tucked away in Dean’s kitchen cabinet.

When they reach the arena, Dean takes a deep breath, pausing with his hand on the door pull.

Offering up a small, but reassuring smile, Cas places his hand on the small of Dean’s back. Drawing strength from the touch, hell, maybe just from Cas’ presence in general, Dean exhales and pulls open the door, already able to hear Bobby’s voice shouting at Walker to get his ass moving before he replaces him with one of the twelve-year-old figure skaters that use the rink to practice their routines on Saturday mornings.

An unwilling smile tugs at Dean’s lips. It’s bittersweet and tinged with regret, but it’s more than Dean was hoping for during this visit, so he’ll take it.

Dean leads the way toward the ice, Cas following dutifully behind. They find seats about five rows up from the bench and Dean does as promised, explaining the ins and outs of the game to Cas, along with what skills they’re working on during drills and who just made a really great move…or a spectacularly stupid one, though he was pretty sure Cas could figure that last one out from Bobby’s swearing.

After about twenty minutes, Coach calls the guys off the ice before turning to holler up to Dean, “What the hell you doin’ up there? Do I look like some ditchable prom date to you? Git yer ass down here and make yourself useful. Walker’s been playin’ your position and it’s like he’s never seen a damn hockey game before, let alone played one.”

Dean looks at Cas apologetically, but his friend just offers an encouraging smile, his face pale in the fluorescent lighting of the arena. “Go ahead, Dean.”

“You wanna come?” Dean asks hopefully, but Cas’ eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head.

“I…you go ahead,” he answers after a moment’s hesitation, his smile looking a little strained. “I’m fine here.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean agrees, feeling guilty. He knows his teammates can be intimidating, especially the asshats like Gordon. Dean can’t really blame Cas for not wanting to get closer, especially after their last run-in.

He leaves Cas reluctantly and jogs down the steps to the bench, where Bobby claps a hand on his shoulder in silent welcome.

“Thanks, Coach,” Dean answers, meaning it for more than just the greeting. He knows Bobby doesn’t really need his help down here and is just trying to make sure he still feels like one of the team. Dean can’t say he doesn’t appreciate the gesture, especially when he’s surrounded by his teammates a moment later. Dean’s been a part of this team for four years. He’s not quite ready to say goodbye.

Dean spends a few minutes shooting the shit with his team, answering their questions and rolling his eyes at their jokes about his hard head, not unlike Cas’ crack about his thick skull. Speaking of Cas, Dean nearly forgets the guy is there until Victor nudges him with his elbow.

“Hey Winchester,” he says seriously, nodding to the seats behind Dean, “you might wanna check on your boy.”

Dean turns to look behind him and sees Cas, unblinking eyes focused on the ice, a spot towards the center of the rink, about three yards from the glass…three yards from where Cas had been sitting the night of Dean’s attack.

_Shit._

Cas is white as freshly zambonied ice and the way his arms are wrapped around himself makes him look small and vulnerable, alone in a sea of empty, folded green stadium seats.

“I can’t believe you brought him here,” comes a voice behind Dean and he turns back to see Gordon’s sneering face. “And people say I’m the insensitive one.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Victor looks at him strangely. “Maybe you oughtta ask Cas that.”

Gordon snorts and rolls his eyes. “What he means is your boyfriend totally lost his shit when that whack job played piñata with your kneecaps and managed to crack your head open instead. Dude was bangin’ on the glass and screamin’ your name like some chick in a Lifetime movie.”

“Funny, how much you seem to know about those movies,” Victor remarks drily, but Dean’s already moving, climbing straight over the seats to get to Cas.

“Cas? You alright, buddy?” Dean asks carefully from the row below Cas’, standing between the armrests of the seat directly in front of his friend, blocking his view of the ice and setting a hand solidly on Cas’ hoodie-covered shoulder. Blinking, Cas looks at him before immediately looking away again and Dean can see the unshed tears in his eyes, the way his chest rises and falls with rapid, shallow breaths as he avoids Dean’s gaze, clearly struggling to hold it together.

“Hey,” Dean says softly, giving Cas’ shoulder a squeeze to bring the man’s watery blue eyes back to his, “let’s get outta here, okay?”

Finally, Cas nods and takes one last haunted look at the ice before letting Dean guide him to the aisle steps with a hand on his elbow. Once they reach the steps, Dean releases him, but waits until his friend has passed in front of him before beginning to make his own way toward the arena’s exit.

They walk side-by-side until they reach the Impala, Cas collapsing against Baby’s passenger side, forehead pressed against his forearms as he leans against her roof, pulling in deep breaths while the wind flutters the tips of his constantly-messy hair.

There’s always a breeze this close to Lake Michigan, but it’s windier this evening than usual, the heavy clouds rolling in overhead promising a spring shower, maybe even a storm. 

Dean watches his friend helplessly for a minute, bemoaning the fact that he fucking sucks with words, especially when it comes to feelings and shit, before doing the only thing he can think of.

“Hey. C’mere.”

He puts a tentative hand on Cas’ shoulder, but he needn’t have worried. Not only does Cas come willingly, he practically launches himself at Dean, clutching at him like he’s worried Dean’s going to disappear, right in front of his eyes.

They don’t speak, but they do stay like that, arms wrapped tightly around one another in the middle of a sports complex parking lot, for a long minute.

Cas doesn’t cry, but when they finally pull away, they’re both wiping at their eyes, mutually electing not to mention it as Cas opens Baby’s passenger door and climbs inside, Dean walking around to do the same.

Cas is quiet, staring out the window as they pull out onto the main road, headed back across town toward Dean’s apartment.

“You okay?” Dean finally asks after they sit in silence through two stoplights on the main drag of their small college town.

“I’m sorry you had to leave your practice early,” Cas rumbles quietly from the passenger seat as the promised drizzle begins to coat Baby’s windshield.

“What? Don’t be sorry, man. It’s not your fault,” he starts, but Cas cuts him off.

“I never should have offered to come with you. I knew it would be…difficult, to be back there, but I didn’t expect…” he trails off. Taking a chance, Dean stretches his arm out across Baby’s bench seat, reaching for Cas’ hand. He’d much rather be hugging the other man again, but this is the best he can do while driving.

For a moment, Dean’s heart clenches in his chest as Cas hesitates, but then relaxes again as he takes the offered hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, Cas,” Dean starts ruefully, glancing at Cas, rainwater rivulets trailing down the window glass behind him, downcast eyes focused on their joined hands. “I never should have put you in that situation. Never shoulda asked you to go back there. I don’t know what I was thinkin’, man. I just… I didn’t know,” Dean finishes helplessly.

He can see Cas in his peripheral vision, shaking his head as Dean pulls into his apartment complex’s parking lot. “I didn’t tell you.”

Putting Baby in park and switching off the wipers,he leaves the engine running as he turns in his seat to face Cas, interlacing their fingers and giving them a squeeze as he asks, “Tell me now?”

Cas stares straight ahead and Dean follows his eyes, watching two rain droplets race one another down the slippery windshield, winding this way and that as they careen down the glass.

Both raindrops have found their rest against the wiper blade at the bottom of the windshield when Cas seems able to put his thoughts into words.

“When that asshole hit you, when he _attacked_ you, you went down so fast,” Cas swallows, “and hard. One minute you were standing there on the ice, smiling at me and the next, you were on the ground and there…”

Cas’ voice breaks and he cuts off. Without thinking, Dean pulls their joined hands up, pressing a kiss to Cas’ knuckles before squeezing their intertwined fingers encouragingly.

For just a second, he worries again that he’s crossed a line, but Cas just clears his throat and keeps talking.

“There was so much blood, Dean, a river of it, just spreading across the ice. And you were so still. For a moment, I really thought…” He trails off again and suddenly it’s not the rain blurring Dean’s view of the outside world.

“Fuck, Cas. I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I had no idea.”

“No, it’s okay,” Cas assures him wetly, wiping a hoodie sleeve across his damp eyes. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“Seriously? If it had been the other way around, if that had been you down there, I’d be a fucking basket case, man. Or Charlie. Or Gabe,” Dean adds quickly, before amending, “Well, maybe not Gabe.”

That pulls a weak smile out of Cas, who finally pulls his hand free of Dean’s, running it through his hair while exhaling with a soft, _whoosh._ “So, what now? I guess my freak out kind of ruined our dinner plans.”

“Don’t worry about that. Right now, I just wanna get you home..uh, I mean, back to my place, and tucked into bed. Then I’ll take care of dinner.” Dean knows his face is beet-red, but damn it, Cas has spent the past two weeks taking care of Dean and Dean’s damn well not going to miss an opportunity to return the favor.

Cas smiles, but raises a teasing eyebrow, “Still trying to get me into bed? Whatever happened to your, ‘I don’t usually take people home’ rule?”

Dean snorts. “Pretty sure we’ve established that you’re the exception to all my rules, Cas.”

He’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the hitch in Cas’ breath when he asks, “All of them?”

Licking his lips, Dean holds Cas’ storm-lit eyes. “I said what I said.”

Cas’ gaze seems to have a gravity all its own, pulling Dean in like a fish on a line. Dean could close the distance between them, fall into those eyes deeper than the lake, and press a kiss to the lips he hasn’t stopped thinking about since the hospital.

Cas stares at him, open and vulnerable, and Dean swallows. Now is not the time. Or maybe it is, but Dean’s not gonna go there anyway. They still have a lot to talk about and Dean doesn’t wanna fuck this up just because he can’t keep it in his pants for five goddamn minutes. Because he has no illusions that he’d be able to stop with one kiss. Not when it comes to Cas.

And Cas, hopeful look in his eyes or no, just had what Dean is pretty sure was a panic attack of some sort back at the arena. It’s probably not a good time for him to be jumping into anything, and what kind of asshole would Dean be for taking advantage of Cas’ vulnerable state right now?

So, Dean smiles, not big and flirty and charming, like he usually does, but soft and sweet, before giving Cas’ knee a squeeze and stepping out into the downpour. They definitely have more to talk about, but it finally feels like they’re on the same page for the first time. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.

Cas pulls his rain-damp hoody over his head and tosses it onto Dean’s bedroom floor, trying not to think about how comfortable he’s become in Dean’s space in just two short weeks. He feels at home here, in this dinky, patchwork apartment in a way he never felt in the bright, modern, much pricier place he’d shared with Derek, with their parents helping to supplement their rent money.

This place may not have its own washer and dryer, or more furniture than a secondhand sofa and a chipped dinette set, but it has _Dean_. The fact that Dean is what makes this place feel like home to Cas is more than a little terrifying.

He _knows_ Dean was about to kiss him in the car, but why did he stop? Dean’s “I said what I said,” wasn’t quite a love confession, but it was definitely an acknowledgement of… _something_ . Of this _thing_ between them that’s not quite a relationship yet, but is definitely more than friendship.

In the past two weeks, they’ve become so much closer, both emotionally and physically, encroaching upon one another’s personal space like they have a right to it: legs tangled together on the sofa, a hip-check in front of the refrigerator, and while they don’t exactly cuddle in bed, more than once Cas has woken up with one of Dean’s arms slung across his chest.

He can hear the sounds of pots and pans clashing as he finishes changing clothes. Dean had quickly shucked his own sweatshirt and jeans, pulling on his sweats and heading straight to the kitchen, ordering Cas to shower and relax while he made them dinner.

Cas obeys, grabbing his own pajama pants, but finding that he’s apparently been so focused on Dean this week that he forgot to do laundry. He bites his lip in consideration for a moment, before pulling another of Dean’s favored band shirts out of his drawer on his way to the bathroom. He showers as quickly as he can, despite how good the warm water feels after the cold rain and even colder panic that had suffused him earlier.

He’s feeling drained after his display at the arena, which he still feels embarrassed and a little guilty about, in spite of Dean’s assurances that he shouldn’t. He’d never meant to put the burden of his feelings on Dean. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t pressed the issue with Dean in the car, asking him to elaborate on exactly what he meant by Cas being the exception to _all_ of his rules. Well that, and of course the fact that Cas is a coward. A rejection definitely isn’t something he could handle today.

Freshly showered and redressed in his plaid pajama pants and Dean’s AC/DC t-shirt, he makes his way to the sofa, just as Dean’s carrying in two mugs of steaming soup.

Dean stops short when he sees Cas, staring wide-eyed at his shirt.

Blushing, Cas looks down. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I was out of clean shirts.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “It’s fine. Really, really, um…fine.” Still staring, Dean swallows and…oh. Cas can’t stop the small smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth, finally overrunning his face in a tiny grin.

“Oh, fuck you,” Dean breathes with a small chuckle as he finally starts moving again, handing Cas his mug of what looks to be tomato soup, before settling himself cross-legged on the couch.

“It’s tomato rice,” Dean explains as Cas stirs the soup in his mug. “My mom used to make it for me, and then I made it for Sammy when I got old enough.”

Feeling warmed in a way that has nothing to do with the heat seeping into his hands from the ceramic mug, Cas murmurs, “Thank you, Dean. For everything.”

Dean shrugs off the gratitude with a mumbled, “Don’t worry about it,” but Cas doesn’t miss the slight pink tinge to his stubbled cheek. Dean switches on the TV, playing an episode of _FRIENDS_ they’ve both seen a half-dozen times. Cas can’t stay focused on Ross’ yelling at Rachel to “pivot,” not when his eyes keep getting pulled back to the man next to him.

Dean, his best friend, who makes him his mom’s tomato rice soup and who plays My Little Ponies with his adopted kid sister. Dean, who loves hockey and his brother and pie…and maybe, just maybe, loves Cas too.

Dean, who’s never had a serious relationship. Who’s never even really had a true _friendship_ until now.

Cas thinks about hockey, and Derek, and socks during sex, and no strings attached. Maybe he’s not the only one afraid of taking a risk, after all.

_“If you wait around for him to make the first move, you’ll miss every time.”_

Dean’s words come back to him as the man sets his now-empty soup mug on the wobbly coffee table.

“Dean.”

Dean turns from the TV as Netflix switches to the next episode, the familiar theme song playing in the background.

” _I’ll be there for you, when the rain starts to fall_ ,” sings the TV as Cas slides forward, gaze locked with Dean’s, the light from the television reflected in the shadowed forests of Dean’s widening eyes.

“Cas?” he whispers as Cas’ leans up on one knee, cupping a hand along Dean’s jawline to draw their mouths together. The kiss starts out a bit hesitant as they both seem to wonder if this is okay, Dean seeming almost on the verge of pulling back before suddenly surging forward instead, deepening the kiss as Cas opens his mouth wider, drawing him in.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been kissing when his hand finds its way around to the back of Dean’s head, pulling the other man with him as he lies back against the sofa. Dean follows easily, one forearm pressed into the cushion above Cas’ head to support himself, while his other hand lands on Cas’ hip, thumb stroking the exposed skin between Cas’ waistband and the bottom of his borrowed t-shirt.

Heat zings through Cas’ body, even as he shivers. He can’t help the tiny moan that escapes him, muffled by Dean’s mouth on his, but audible just the same. Sitting up, Dean lowers himself until he’s straddling Cas’ hips, their quickly filling cocks pressing against one another obviously through the soft, thin fabric of their pants. This time, Dean’s moan matches his and Dean runs his hands up underneath the AC/DC tee, pushing it up to reveal Cas’ trembling abs beneath.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Dean breathes, not bothering to hide his grin when Cas chest flushes pink with the praise. Glaring at him, Cas fists his hand in Dean’s solid black tee and pulls him down for another kiss.

“I’d look even better naked in your bed,” he growls in Dean’s ear, keeping his grip on Dean’s shirt and holding him close so Dean can’t see how much darker his blush has grown. Without alcohol fueling him, Cas’ bedroom confidence is significantly lower than the last time they did this.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean murmurs as he presses a kiss to the junction between Cas neck and shoulder before pulling back and sitting up again, despite Cas’ clutching hands and grumbled protests.

Seeing Cas’ scarlet face, Dean’s lust-blown look fades into something softer.

“Fuck, Cas. I want to,” Dean swallows as he trails fingertips across Cas’ abdomen, leaving goosebumps in his wake and making Cas damn near sob with his desire, “but maybe we should wait. Y’know, talk about things first.”

“Please, Dean. Not tonight. I just. I can’t…” To Cas’ horror, he really does feel tears starting to well up in his eyes as the terror that Dean is about to tell him that this is just sex, or remind him of his “one-night” rule, or hell, maybe even admit that he _does_ like Cas but can’t give him any more than this because they’re graduating in six weeks consumes him. He can’t face any of those things tonight.

He can’t and Dean’s right, they should stop because of that…but Cas can’t do that either.

He _needs_ Dean. Needs him like the breath he couldn’t get in during his panic attack earlier. Like something necessary and life-giving and just out of reach.

“Shh, it’s okay, Cas. It’s okay. I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Dean whispers, leaning down to press a reassuring kiss against Cas’ lips even as he climbs off Cas’ lap.

Taking Dean’s offered hands, Cas lets himself be pulled up off the couch, sagging in relief when Dean’s arms immediately surround him, drawing him into another deep kiss.

Dean holds him there, pressed against his chest, never breaking from their kiss as he walks Cas backwards toward the bedroom. He only stops when Cas feels the back of his knees bumping the mattress they’ve been sharing for the past two weeks.

Drawing back, he looks into Dean’s eyes, heavy and hooded, though which is weighing on them more, lust or exhaustion, is up for debate.

“Dean,” he starts, running a gentle thumb across Dean’s five o’clock shadow, “if you’re tired, we don’t have to do this tonight.”

Dean gapes at him like he’s lost his mind and Cas bites back a smile.

“Cracked head or not, Cas, if you really want this, there ain’t nothing in Hell, Heaven, or in-between that’s gonna keep me from finding out what every square inch of you tastes like.”

Cas’ arousal surges, but he takes a deep breath and shoves it back down.

“I’m just saying that…it’s not now or never.” He hesitates, before adding shyly, “I’m not going to change my mind overnight. I’m still going to want this just as much tomorrow as I do right now.”

Dean’s eyes light up and a slow smile spreads over his face, soft and beautiful.

“Well, in that case,” he says, soft smile tumbling into a cheeky grin, “I guess we’ll just have to do it again tomorrow.”

Again.

Tomorrow.

Cas launches himself at Dean, capturing the other man’s mouth in a desperate kiss that he doesn’t break until he feels Dean’s hands skating up his sides, taking the AC/DC shirt with them. He pulls back enough for Dean to lift the material over his head, but resists the urge to return the favor, not wanting to risk bumping Dean’s still-healing skull fracture.

Instead, he tugs at the offending material with a half-muttered, half-growled, “Off.”

Dean hastily complies and holy shit is that hotter than Cas expected.

For a moment, they both stand there, taking one other in, eyes trailing over the other’s body in a way they’ve been pointedly avoiding for the past two weeks, facing the wall and swapping out clothing as quickly as possible while trying to look unhurried, like a couple of middle schoolers changing for gym class for the first time.

Then Dean’s pressing Cas down against the mattress, straddling him as he sucks kisses and marks into every uncovered swathe of skin from Cas’ forehead to his navel. Clearly, Dean hadn’t been exaggerating about his quest to “taste every square inch” of Cas.

Cas pants as Dean trails kisses across his collarbone. He moans as Dean’s tongue laves over a nipple. He squirms and chuckles when Dean nips at the sensitive skin on his side, only to hiss when the tip of that talented tongue follows his happy trail down to the top of his pajama pants.

“Can I?” Dean asks, running a finger under the waistband and causing Cas to shudder with want.

“You first,” he rasps, partially because he wants to see Dean naked and partially from a desire to see the other man follow another of his orders. Dean doesn’t disappoint, though instead of climbing off the bed to remove his pants, he stands up on his knees, meaty thighs straddling one of Cas’ own as he slowly lowers his sweats and boxers in tandem, his already mostly erect cock bobbing free of its confines and hovering, flushed red and gorgeous, just inches above Cas’ own.

Leaning over top Cas and lowering himself to steal a kiss, Dean supports himself on his hands and toes, push-up style, as he uses one foot and then the other to shimmy his sweats and boxer-briefs the rest of the way off.

“Show off,” Cas grumbles and Dean laughs before dipping his head down for another kiss, which Cas happily supplies.

Crawling back down Cas’ body, Dean wraps his fingers around Cas’ waistband and slides the flannel down, Cas arching and lifting his ass off the bed to ease the way.

“Commando, Cas?” Dean asks approvingly. “Feelin’ lucky tonight or just hopeful?”

Cas snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. I only have one clean pair left and I figured I’d better save them for tomorrow.”

“Hey,” Dean argues on a laugh, “Not my fault your ass is too lazy to walk down to the laundry room.”

Cas would offer up a witty and scathing retort to that, he’s sure, but the feeling of Dean suddenly sucking a mark into the _very_ sensitive skin along his hipbone whites out all other thought.

Dean’s still working on his hickey when he takes Cas’ thus far neglected cock in hand, stroking along the smooth shaft. As Cas hips buck instinctually, he feels the scrape of Dean’s teeth against his hipbone and groans at the sensation.

Pulling back to admire his handiwork, Dean’s eyes dart between the blooming bruise and the equally purpled head of Cas’ cock, now dripping precome as Dean continues his lazy strokes.

Dean licks his lips. “You, uh, you said I’m only the second person you’ve been with, right?” When Cas nods, he continues, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been tested then, huh?”

Eyes widening in lust-filled surprise, Cas manages to croak, “I’m clean. I was tested right after Derek and I split up.” Clearing his throat, he explains, “After the way he lied to me about the job…and our future, I decided I wasn’t willing to take any chances on what else he might have been deceitful about.”

“Have I mentioned that guy’s an idiot?” Dean asks, voice tinged with incredulity as he kisses the insides of Cas’ thighs.

Cas would answer, but he can’t even breathe, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch Dean as his mouth slowly makes its way closer to where Cas so desperately wants it. Finally though, Dean plants a single, branding kiss against the base of Cas’ shaft before licking a stripe to the top. He pauses just long enough to swirl his tongue around Cas’ head once before swallowing him down.

Cas moans a shuddering, “Fuck Dean,” as his head falls backwards between his shoulder blades.

Dean’s only answer is to begin bobbing up and down along Cas’s shaft, alternating impressive suction with deft swirls of his tongue, hitting that sensitive spot on the underside of Cas’ dick in a way that makes it jump and twitch in response.

When Dean tongues Cas’ slit he actually _yelps_ , though he’d deny it in any court.

None of that is anything to how Dean _looks_ though, his full, pouty lips stretched around Cas’ cock, traces of saliva trailing from his mouth in his haste to suck Cas off.

It feels like forever and no time at all before Cas is scrabbling and shoving at Dean’s shoulders, avoiding pulling on his hair no matter how much he wants to as he attempts to stop Dean from making him come far too soon.

“Dean, wait,” he pants as Dean pulls off his cock with an obscene squelch that shouldn’t be so hot. “Don’t wanna come yet, I…I want…” Cas sucks in a breath as he collapses back against the pillows.

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean asks, smoothing large, strong hands up and down Cas’ trembling thighs.

“I want you inside of me,” Cas manages, lifting his head to meet Dean’s eyes, knowing how wrecked he must look already.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Those rough hands keep moving, sliding up Cas’ stomach and chest until they reach his arms, gliding over his biceps and down his forearms until they can intertwine with Cas’ own as Dean presses their bodies together, capturing Cas’ mouth in another heady kiss.

After a minute or an hour, Dean breaks away to reach for the drawer of his nightstand. “Have you done it this way before?” He asks, trying to seem uninterested in the response.

“A couple of times,” Cas admits, “but I wasn’t really a fan and Derek didn’t have a preference, so I usually topped.”

Dean hesitates as he moves to flip open the Astroglide cap. “Are you sure you wanna do this now? We don’t have to. I bottomed for you before, Cas, and believe me, I don’t mind doin’ it again.”

Looking into Dean’s eyes to reassure him of his truthfulness, he answers, “You said you wanted to taste every inch of me.” He rolls his hips, bringing their cocks into contact and pulling a near whimper from Dean. “Well, I want to _feel_ every inch of you.”

Dean’s eyes are fire and Cas melts under the suddenly possessive glint he sees there. Oh fuck.

“You got it, sweetheart,” Dean’s already deep voice seems to drop another register as he coats two of his fingers in lube.

Trailing them between Cas’ cheeks, Dean circles the pad of one finger over Cas’ entrance and Cas shivers at the tingling he feels there and the corresponding zing it sends to his groin.

“Feel good?” Dean asks with a smile, continuing to rub a lubed finger over Cas’ hole, increasing the pressure until his fingertip begins to dip into Cas opening instead of just over it.

Cas fights to keep his hips still, but he can’t help the squirming as he tries to get _more_.

He’s suddenly rewarded by Dean’s finger popping past his rim and tenses at the intrusion, but Dean’s already soothing him, stilling his hand as he presses a kiss against Cas’ sweaty temple from where he’s lying on his side, his front plastered along Cas’ body.

“Relax for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” Dean croons in his ear and he does.

Dean starts sliding his finger in and out, at first just to the second knuckle then deeper, giving an occasional twist to his hand as he pulls out, stimulating Cas’ rim even more, so that before long, Cas is writhing on the sheets once again.

Dean takes that as his cue to add a second finger, after pausing for a second to add more lube to the mix. Cas sucks in a sharp breath at the burn and it takes him a little longer to relax this time, but Dean just waits patiently, pressing kisses against every part of Cas he can reach and murmuring praise into his skin.

“Touch yourself,” comes Dean’s husky whisper and Cas does, giving his flagging erection a few strokes that stoke that smoldering fire deep inside. Dean’s own cock lays hot and heavy against Cas’ leg, dripping precome on his thigh.

Cas moans as Dean begins to move his fingers. He’s so distracted by the warring sensations of his stretched rim and stimulated cock that he’s completely taken by surprise when Dean’s fingers graze his prostate.

“More?” Dean asks cheekily at his undignified shout.

“Nnngh,” is all Cas can manage, though he does swat at Dean’s chest for his sass. Chuckling, Dean keeps up his assault on Cas’ prostate, until Cas is rocking down against his hand and squeezing around the base of his dick instead of stroking it, somehow trying to chase his release and stave it off simultaneously.

He’s trying to work up enough brainpower to tell Dean that he’s ready, that he needs Dean’s cock in him _now_ or he’s going to fucking implode, when Dean seems to get the message, pulling his fingers out and sitting up to wipe them on the discarded sweat pants still sitting at the foot of the bed, before reaching over Cas to pull a condom out of the nightstand drawer.

“I’m still gonna use one of these,” Dean explains, holding up the silver foil packet between two fingers, “but, uh, I want you to know that I’m clean, too. I’ve only been with one person since the last time I was tested…and that was you.” Dean’s face is flushed red from something other than exertion or arousal by the time he’s finished and Cas can’t help the gummy smile the spreads across his own.

Elated to learn that his suspicions were correct and Dean really hasn’t brought anyone else home the past few months, Cas cups both hands around Dean’s neck, pulling their faces together and getting lost in another kiss.

When he hears the crinkle of the foil in Dean’s fist, he releases him, falling back on the sheets and giving Dean a heated look as he smooths the condom over his thick cock, moaning lightly at the stimulation after having ignored it so long as he focused on Cas’ pleasure.

Noticing where his eyes are resting, Dean grins. “Want something, Cas?” He asks cheekily and Cas has vague recollections of teasing Dean similarly last time they were together. Brat.

Not to be outdone, Cas raises an eyebrow. “Your cock in my ass. Before I have to flip you over and take what I want for myself. If you remember correctly, I’m more than capable.”

The way Dean’s eyes darken tells Cas that oh yes, he does remember and apparently still finds it just as hot as he seemed to that night. Cas smirks, arching his eyebrow further even though he has no intention of manhandling someone with a head injury.

“Bossy accountant,” Dean snarks and Cas laughs. His laughter is short-lived, however, when Dean lines up and presses the tip of his dick against Cas’ hole. As he lets out a quiet gasp, Dean eases forward, slow but steady, until he pushes past Cas’ rim.

“Fuuuuck,” Cas moans, forcing himself to relax, something that seems nearly impossible with how full he suddenly feels. Logically, he knows Dean’s cock is only slightly larger than average, but right now he feels fucking huge.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Shh, I’ve got you.” Dean’s gentle hands stroke Cas’ thighs as he waits for Cas to adjust. Dean must feel it when Cas’ starts to relax around his girth, because he begins slowly pressing forward, keeping his movements as smooth as possible until he slides all the way home, his hips snug against Cas’ ass.

His hands stretch automatically toward Dean, as close to Cas as anyone has ever been and yet somehow still just out of reach. Dean remedies that immediately, leaning down and letting Cas pull him in until their chests are flush together and Cas can bury his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.

“You can move,” he finally mumbles against Dean’s shoulder and Dean obliges, rolling his hips in easy thrusts at first, then building in intensity with Cas’s encouraging grunts and moans.

Dean’s still hovering over-top of him, resting his weight on his forearms and pressing kisses to Cas’ lips, neck, and throat in between slow, deep thrusts that leave Cas gasping.

Fuck, it feels so good and yet, nowhere near enough.

“Faster, Dean,” he rasps. “Harder.”

“You sure that’s what you want, babe?” Dean asks, slowing and grinding his hips in lazy, teasing circles.

Glaring at him from six inches away, Cas pouts. “I might not be as experienced as you, Dean, but I’m no blushing virgin. Now fuck me like you mean it, if you don’t mind.”

Face splitting in a devilish grin, Dean nips sharply at Cas’ bottom lip before bending low enough to purr in Cas’ ear, “Oh sweetheart, I’m just gettin’ started.”

Cas shivers at the heat of Dean’s breath against his ear and the promise in his voice.

Pulling out long enough to grab his pillow from the top of the bed, Dean wedges it unceremoniously beneath Cas’s ass, Cas helping to position it as Dean grasps his hips and lifts him slightly upward.

Pillow in place, Dean wastes no time, grasping Cas’ legs under his knees and pushing them back, nearly folding him in half as he slides home in one smooth stroke, earning a surprised gasp from Cas.

Smirking, Dean pulls almost all the way out before slamming his hips forward again.

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Better?”

Not giving him a chance to respond, Dean sets a brutal pace, locking eyes with Cas as he drives into him again and again, the only sounds in the room Cas’ desperate pants and the obscene slapping of skin-on-skin.

Dean looms above him, miles of glistening, sweat-damp skin, firm muscles, and the most adorable freckles Cas could ever hope to see. But he only sees them in his periphery now, his eyes still focused on Dean’s, warm green jade glowing softly in the lamplight.

He should look away, because Cas knows there’s no way he’s not broadcasting every loving feeling he has for Dean all over his face right now and surely, it’s too much, too soon, but Dean doesn’t look like he’s about to be scared off. His face is open and soft and maybe it’s Cas’ imagination, but he thinks he might see his own feelings reflected back at him.

“Kiss me,” he orders and Dean dives for him, releasing his legs as he brings his arms up to frame Cas’ head again, capturing his lips in a kiss that says everything it feels too soon to breathe out loud.

Hooking his own hands beneath his knees, Cas holds his legs back in the same way Dean had, pulling them back a little further even and apparently changing the angle just enough that Dean’s next thrust grazes his prostate.

He groans loudly into Dean’s mouth and Dean swallows it down, pistoning his hips with even more force and hitting Cas’ prostate with every thrust. Cas’ moans quickly dissolve into whimpers as the assault on his sweet spot continues. He’s never made this much noise in bed before, but he’s helpless to stop and too far gone to bother feeling embarrassed, especially when Dean seems to enjoy them so much.

“Yeah, baby. Lemme hear you. You like that, Cas? Tell me what you want, sweetheart. God _damn_ you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

“There, Dean. There, there, harder, fuck!” Cas babbles and Dean fucks into him like a man possessed. He’s still draped across Cas, pinning Cas’ weeping, throbbing cock between their sweat-slicked bodies and the slide is pushing Cas ever closer to the edge.

He feels himself hurtling toward release, which fuck, is he about to come without a hand on his dick? It’s not quite coming untouched, but it’s pretty damn close and Cas thought this kind of stuff only happened in porn.

“Dean, I’m so…so close,” he pants, his knees nearly slipping from his grasp as he scrabbles to hold on.

“Oh, fuck, baby. You gonna come for me? Just like this?” Dean asks raggedly, seeming like he’s having trouble holding on himself. “That’s so fuckin’ hot, sweetheart.”

“ _Deeeaaan, I—I—_ ” Cas moans, cutting off as the next thrust pushes him over that edge, hot come spurting between their bodies. The thought of Dean, covered in Cas’ come has his dick leaping between them as Dean fucks him through his orgasm, sounding very close to his own release.

“Oh, fuck, Cas, fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna _—fuck, fuck, nnnggh.”_

Finally slowing as he works through his own orgasm with a few lazy thrusts, Dean leans his forehead against Cas’.

“That was…” He trails off, raggedly sucking in air and shaking his head slightly where it’s still pressed against Cas’.

“Mmm.” He agrees with a hum, trailing shaky fingers down Dean’s sides.

They should probably talk about all of this, Cas thinks, then grimaces as cool air hits the sticky come smeared across his torso when Dean rolls off him…after a shower.

They stumble sleepily to the shower, washing each other with gentle touches, sweet kisses, and few words between them.

Afterwards, they find their way back to Dean’s bed and Cas opens his mouth to ask Dean what all this means for them now…where they go from here, but then stops as he watches Dean yawn loudly, looking completely wiped, and no wonder.

Closing his mouth, Cas climbs under the covers, hesitating for a moment and wondering if he should retreat to what has become “his” side of the bed, the way he has every night they’ve slept here together for the past two weeks. Dean solves his quandary for him though, rolling onto his side and reaching blindly for Cas, wrapping strong fingers around his wrist and dragging him into position as the big spoon before switching off the light.

This…this is good enough for now.

They’ll talk tomorrow.

Cas wakes before Dean in the morning, his alarm set for his eight o’clock Women’s Lit course as it is every Tuesday. He sighs as he pulls himself away from Dean. He generally considers his early mornings penance for waiting until his last semester to finish his required electives, instead of getting them out of the way when he was an underclassman. This though, having to get up when he could still be wrapped around his own personal, green-eyed, freckled Adonis? Cruel and unusual punishment.

Grabbing his phone from where he’d casually tossed it on the dresser and silencing the alarm, he winces when he realizes that between his panic attack and well, _Dean_ , he forgot to plug it in last night. It’s only got half its battery life left. Hopefully, that’ll be enough to get him through until he gets back to the apartment tonight.

Eyes barely open, he navigates his way through Dean’s apartment by memory, reaching into the kitchen cabinet above the coffee maker, like he does most mornings. He’s given up his morning treks to _Coffee on Main_ these past couple of weeks, preferring watching a sleepy Dean wake up to freshly brewing coffee to his usual vanilla chai latte.

His fingertips search the top shelf of the cabinet, coming up empty and Cas huffs. Dean made the coffee yesterday in his eagerness to get ready for his first day of classes and either they’re out and Dean forgot to tell him or he’s used his two-inch height advantage to put the coffee just out of Cas’ reach.

Standing on tiptoe, he searches the cabinet blindly, finally finding the coffee and using the tips of his fingers and the wall of the cabinet to wiggle it forward enough for him to grab.

 _Damn unnaturally tall Winchesters_ , he grumbles to himself as he drags the bag of ground caffeine out of the cabinet.

To Cas’ surprise, his coffee-fondling accidentally drags something else out of the cabinet as well. A folded stack of papers and a white envelope hit the countertop next to Cas’ favorite of Dean’s coffee mugs, a chipped _Denny’s_ mug that he’s about 95% certain Dean didn’t pay for. It’s even odds on whether it came with the apartment or was stolen by Dean after a night of drinking and a plateful of Eggs Over My Hammy. As much as he loves this mug, the chip on the rim makes drinking from it a bit of an adventure. He thinks about his “Give me a <br>” coffee mug, collecting dust in his and Gabe’s kitchen. Maybe he’ll stop by the apartment on his way back from class today and grab it. Perhaps it’s a bit presumptuous to assume that Dean will want him to keep staying here now that their agreed upon two weeks are over and Dean’s returned to his normal activities, but after last night, Cas thinks it’s worth taking a risk.

Picking up the now only partially-folded pages from the countertop, Cas is about to refold and stuff them back into their envelope when he pauses, the bold blue Boeing logo in the top left-hand corner catching his eye. He glances at the matching envelope to see a return address in Arlington, Virginia, which is a very long way from both Illinois and Nebraska.

A cold sense of déjà vu settles over him as he mechanically lifts the letter in his hand, gravity undoing the bottom third of the tri-fold, silently egging him on, urging him to read the words that his more rational side reminds him sternly are none of his business. Memories of another letter, another white envelope with a company logo drown that voice out, however. Cas’ eyes flit across the page, ignoring the details of Dean’s offer letter as he flips to the bottom of the final page, the page that has Dean’s signature in royal blue ink.

Dean is accepting a job in Virginia and in…Cas flips back a page and scans for Dean’s start date, eight weeks or less, he’ll be moving there, leaving Cas behind.

Cas swallows and stuffs the contract back into the envelope without looking at it before tucking the entire thing back in the cabinet, replacing the coffee with it.

Pulling his phone from the pocket of his flannel pants, he fires a text off to Charlie, before rushing to get dressed. He casts a single longing look back at the coffee pot.

He’ll stop at _Coffee on Main_ on his way to class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for panic attack and descriptions of violence/blood.


	9. Chapter 9

Stretching his pleasantly sore muscles, Dean rolls over in bed, unsurprised to find it empty (Cas is always the first one up), but feeling warm and content anyways.

What is surprising, Dean realizes as he wakes more fully, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, is not the missing Cas, but the missing smell of coffee. Cas almost always has the coffee already brewing by the time Dean wakes up, especially on Tuesdays and Thursdays, since he has that stupidly early lit class. How the dude manages to have coherent discussions about literature at ass o’clock in the morning is well beyond Dean. He’s lucky if he can manage two-syllable words at this time of day. Hell, pre-coffee anything more than a grunt and a middle finger is pretty goddamn impressive in Dean’s book.

Tossing his legs over the side of the bed, Dean’s making to haul his ass to the kitchen when he sees Cas’ note on the nightstand. Grinning at the familiar blocky scrawl, he reads.

_DEAN,_

_I WAS RUNNING LATE THIS MORNING AND DIDN’T HAVE TIME TO MAKE COFFEE. APOLOGIES._

_I MIGHT BE A LITTLE LATE THIS EVENING. I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF A FEW THINGS._

_HAVE A NICE SECOND DAY OF CLASSES. DON’T OVERDO IT._

_TAKE CARE,_

_CAS_

If he’s a little disappointed that Cas is still signing his notes “take care,” instead of something sappy like “love” or “yours,” well, that’s just ridiculous. After all, they still haven’t had the chance to talk about where things stand between them now, though after last night Dean has a pretty hard time imagining they _aren’t_ finally on the same page. Last night was about far more than sex, more than Cas needing comfort, more than friends being worried about one another.

Dean’s whistling to himself as he steps into the shower, soaping himself up and rinsing off in the steamy spray with a happy sigh as the remembers the finer points of last night. Cas asking to bottom for Dean when Dean knows he’s only done that with one other person…a person he was in a serious relationship with and planned to spend the rest of his life with, no less. Even thinking about it makes Dean’s heart fill to the point that it feels like it might actually explode in his chest. It’s a physical ache, how much he loves Cas and Dean can’t help but wonder if that ache will get stronger or fade with time as he adjusts to this new feeling.

Remembering the sensation of sliding into Cas, the look of wide-eyed wonder followed by unfettered pleasure on Cas’ face as Dean hovered over him, holding his eyes as he filled him, more intimate than any sex he’s ever had before, has Dean’s cock taking an interest between his legs. He ignores it though, preferring waiting for the real thing with Cas again tonight to indulging in memories now.

Fresh from the shower, Dean finishes toweling his hair dry as he walks to the kitchen in nothing but his burgundy boxer briefs. His morning dose of caffeine has been delayed long enough. Pulling out the coffee from its place in the top of his kitchen cabinet, his fingers brush against the smooth envelope Dean knows is still tucked away there.

Sighing, he fills the coffee filter with the heavenly smelling grounds of his favorite brand, one of the few areas in his life in which Dean doesn’t skimp, pinch pennies, or compromise. He’s been surviving mornings on coffee since he was nine-years-old (thank you to the excellent parenting skills of John Winchester) and he’s had enough shitty, off-brand motel coffee to last him a lifetime. So yeah, coffee is the one good thing in his life Dean allows himself to have without guilt or regret. Well, coffee…and now Cas.

Rolling his eyes at his own sappiness (what, is he Sam now?), Dean pulls the envelope down from the cabinet, running a thumb over the stylized blue logo. He swallows as he thinks of the start date printed on the offer letter inside, the first Monday in June, only a few short weeks away. 

He’d signed the damn letter the day after he got home from the hospital, while Cas was away at class and Dean was stuck alone in the apartment, battling bouts of nausea and waves of self-pity and failing miserably at defeating either. He’d told himself he’d mail it as soon as he was able to leave the apartment on his own, but as the days went on and Dean’s head felt less and less like someone was trying to bust their way out of it, the letter remained tucked away. Mailing it had seemed less urgent with every passing day. 

Looking back, the reason he hadn’t made it to the post office seems fairly obvious and it’s the same reason he slides the envelope back into the lonely corner of his cupboard now.

Cas.

Mailing this letter means putting an expiration date on his...whatever this is with Cas, and Dean can’t do it. 

Frowning into his freshly poured cup of coffee, Dean reminds himself that he still doesn’t know what Cas’ plans are for after graduation. He knows that Cas doesn’t want to leave the Chicago area though, is afraid of starting over somewhere new. Starting over though, that’s something Dean excels at. God knows he’s had to do it often enough in his life. The only thing keeping him from applying for ME jobs in Chicago is the fact that Cas told him his own career prospects in the area are fucked thanks to his app-stealing dickbag ex-boyfriend. 

Maybe it’s for the best though, a dark part of Dean’s mind, a part that sounds suspiciously like a whiskey-soaked John Winchester, whispers. Cas wants that apple pie life, with the cul-de-sac and barbecues and a white picket fence. What the hell does Dean know about any of that?

No. Dean’s hands tighten around the faded _Denny’s_ label on the mug he’d found abandoned in the cabinet his first morning in this apartment. It, along with nearly everything else in this place, Dean included, had been cast away, forgotten, replaced. But Cas, Cas has chosen to drink his coffee out of this old, battered mug every morning since he started staying with Dean.

Cas, who pulled on Dean’s faded old AC/DC shirt when he ran out of clean laundry. Who kept the disposable cardboard coffee sleeve Dean wrote his number on as a keepsake. And who, on the night they met, didn’t mock him for being kind to Marv, even though the guy’s a dick. Didn’t recoil at the man’s bad manners or tell Dean he was probably going to spend the money Dean gave him on booze (which is almost certainly true).

Cas sees beauty and value in discarded things and maybe that includes Dean. After last night, Dean can believe that Cas doesn’t just see him as some commitment-phobic meathead playboy with abandonment issues. Because somehow Cas _sees_ Dean, in a way no one else ever has. 

So, the letter can wait until he and Cas have had a chance to talk about their futures, or, if Dean’s lucky, their _future_ , singular. _Fuck_ , he really is turning into a sap. He’s gonna be embroidering their names together on throw pillows next. Although, Dean considers, a throw pillow might hide that mystery stain on the sofa.

He takes another sip of coffee, grunting as his lip snags on a sharp-edged chip in the cup’s rim. Has Cas seriously been drinking out of this thing like this? Rolling his eyes, Dean finishes his coffee, content in the knowledge that, sap or not, his sentimentality is clearly equally matched in this relation— _thing_ he has with Cas.

Cas isn’t home when Dean finally makes it back to the apartment that evening and Dean figures he must still be taking care of whatever errands he had to run after classes. That’s fine though, because Dean has a couple errands of his own to run. Maybe he’ll give Cas a call and see if he wants to meet up for dinner.

He’d thought about stopping by the guys’ practice again, but after last night, he doesn’t really want to leave Cas alone quite yet. Besides, dinner (and everything that might happen afterwards) with Cas sounds a hell of a lot better than watching hockey and _damn_ , Dean really must be in love.

He’d been pleased to find that his classes had passed much more smoothly today than yesterday: No dizziness, no nausea, no feeling of someone taking a battering ram to the inside of his skull. He’s actually still feeling pretty good by the time he gets back to the apartment. The only downside, of course, was that he and Cas’ Tuesday/Thursday schedules don’t line up at all, which means they couldn’t meet for lunch. That’s not generally a problem, because Dean’s not actually _that_ needy, plus Charlie’s usually around the dining hall at that hour. Today though, she wasn’t there, which meant Dean had to eat alone, something he used to enjoy, but has lost its appeal recently, especially after two weeks’ of lonely lunches in his apartment.

The opening bars of the _Immigrant Song_ start blaring from Dean’s pocket and he pulls out his phone, dropping his backpack and tossing Baby’s keys on the countertop peninsula that divides his shitty kitchen from his shitty living room. Huh. Speak of the devil.

“Hey, Charlie, what’s up?”

“Hey Dean! Is Cas home yet? He’s not answering his phone, so I’m guessing the dweeb forgot to charge it again and now it’s dead.” Her voice is warm and fond and Dean quirks a grin. He happens to know that for once, Cas had a pretty damn good reason for forgetting to charge his phone before bed, but it’s not like he’s going to tell Charlie that.

“Nah, not yet. He said he had a couple stops to make though, so he should be here any minute. Want me to tell him to call you?” Dean heads into the kitchen, digging around in the refrigerator to see if there’s anything in there still its original color and smell or if he needs to grab something while he’s out, since he now knows texting Cas about dinner is out of the question.

“I _should_ probably wait to tell him first, but I’m too excited,” Charlie enthuses and Dean can practically see her bouncing on her knees. “Tell him that his Zoom interviews went _great_ ! I’ve already heard back from my contacts and they _loved_ him! I’ll give him a call if I hear anything more, so tell the loser he better answer his damn phone!”

Interviews.

Dean’s stomach hits his knees.

These have to be the interviews that Cas and Charlie were talking about in Dean’s hospital room. The ones for jobs in Austin and…where else had Charlie said? The west coast? So, maybe LA or San Fran. Silicon Valley. Makes sense, after all. Cas is a computer programmer. Where better for him to get a job?

Swallowing down the emotions that bubble up at the thought of Cas packing up and heading west, Dean manages to answer Charlie.

“Wow. That’s…” Dean clears his throat. “That’s great, Charles. I’ll tell him. I just got home myself though, so I’m gonna get off here.”

Dean barely hears Charlie’s smartass joke about “getting off” as he ends the call, slumping back against the kitchen countertop.

Cas and Sam can go off to California and leave Dean behind together, Dean thinks bitterly. Hell, it’d probably be pretty easy for Dean to get a job out there too, but Sam had been pushing him toward Boeing and the east coast all semester, all while applying to a school as far away from Dean as possible. Clearly, his little brother doesn’t want Dean looking over his shoulder for the next four years.

And Cas…he guesses these interviews must be the _things_ Cas had to take care of after classes today. But why didn’t he _tell_ Dean about them? They’ve spent practically every moment that Cas wasn’t in class over the past two weeks together. There’d been plenty of opportunity for Cas to bring it up, but he hadn’t. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted Dean to know. The thought leaves a sour taste in Dean’s mouth.

Was last night his goodbye? Did Dean have it all wrong?

Dean’s eyes are drawn to the cabinet above the coffee maker for a long moment.

Austin.

California.

Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he straightens and reaches for his keys.

Cas smiles fondly as he climbs out of his Prius, parked next to Dean’s gorgeous monstrosity of a car.

“You really are a beast,” he tells her as he reaches into the Prius’ backseat for his bags. Messenger bag hoisted over his shoulder and hands full, he closes the car door with a hip, then shifts his bundle and keys to one arm so he can pat Baby gently as he walks by.

Giving the shining black car an apologetic glance, he murmurs, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have called you a beast. You’re a very beautiful car. The sexiest one I’ve ever seen actually. Just don’t tell Dean.”

Blinking, he suddenly realizes he’s now having a conversation with Dean’s car and shakes his head at himself. One night in bed with the guy and Cas is taking on his penchant for anthropomorphizing anything with an internal combustion engine. He’s clearly gone on the man.

As he walks up the steps to Dean’s second story apartment, he thinks about his interviews. He can’t help but think they went well. Well, more than _well,_ actually. In words Charlie would use, Cas is pretty sure he fucking nailed those bitches.

Snorting and adding “fucking nailed those bitches,” to the mental catalogue of phrases he can never say out loud, Cas finds the spare key to Dean’s apartment on his key ring and places it in the lock. There he hesitates, taking a moment to lean his head against the chipped green paint on the door.

His interviews went well. Now he just has to tell Dean about them. He’s still not completely sure how Dean will react. What he’ll say. Mentally, Cas curses both of them for waiting so long to let this happen. If Dean hadn’t had his “no dating” rule and Cas hadn’t insisted on being “just friends,” they could have been together nearly all semester and then maybe the path forward would be a lot more clear…and a hell of a lot less terrifying.

Wishing for what could have been isn’t going to do him any favors though.

Taking a deep breath, he unlocks the door and steps inside, eyebrows raising when he doesn’t see Dean where he expects him to be, sprawled out on the sofa in front of the T.V.

“Dean?” He calls toward the back of the apartment as he sets down his bag in what has become “his” spot next to the door. He’s unsurprised not to hear a response, given that the lights are all off. Turning on the stand lamp in the far corner of the room, Cas plugs his currently useless phone into Dean’s charger, setting it on the worn carpet next to the outlet. The charging battery icon pops up on his phone screen, but it will still be several minutes before it has enough juice to turn on. He frowns, hoping Dean hasn’t been trying to reach him.

He hadn’t been planning to be so late, but got caught up talking to Gabe when he dropped by the apartment. Most of their conversation had been Gabe teasing him mercilessly about his current living arrangement with Dean, true, but it had still been nice to reconnect with his friend, mortifying as it was.

It had taken Gabe exactly three minutes to suss out the change in his and Dean’s…friendship. Cas frowns, that word not feeling right even in his head, though he refuses to replace it with the “r” word. Gabe had made some crack about how he hadn’t actually expected Cas to come back, figuring that after two weeks of cohabitation, he and Dean would have either killed one another or been “fucking like overly dramatic, sexually repressed little bunnies.”

Cas’ silence and answering blush had given him away immediately. He’d ignored both Gabe’s congratulations for managing to finally get laid twice this semester and the glint in his eye when Cas had retrieved his favorite mug from the kitchen cupboard.

Now, he perches on the edge of Dean’s sofa, unwrapping said mug from the plastic grocery bag he’d packaged it in for the short ride across town and setting it carefully on the coffee table at his knees, “<br>” the only part of the lettering visible from this angle. The feel of the cup in his hands had been almost strange, even after only two weeks without it. Lightweight and almost delicate. Cas thinks he might actually prefer the heavier, more solid feel of the clunky _Denny’s_ mug, chip and all.

He’s about to shift back and turn on Netflix when he hears Dean’s key in the door. Stomach suddenly leaping into his throat, Cas remains rigid on the edge of the couch cushion, turning toward the door as Dean enters.

“Oh,” Dean stops in the doorway, deep frown suddenly disappearing as his face goes carefully blank. “Hey. Wasn’t sure if you’d be back yet.”

“Hey,” Cas says slowly. Something seems off about Dean, but he’s not sure what it is. “Sorry I’m so late. I stopped by the apartment to grab a few things and got caught up talking to Gabe,” he explains, gesturing at the mug on the tabletop.

Dean’s eyebrows lift slightly, then fall as he takes in the mug. Is he disappointed? Over a coffee mug? “Oh. Yeah. I noticed the one you’ve been using here is chipped. Sorry ‘bout that. It’s been here since I moved in. Can’t blame you for wanting something better.”

At that Cas smiles shyly, warmed inside that he’d guessed right about where the chipped mug had come from. “Actually, I was just thinking that I like my _Denny’s_ mug better. It feels better in my hand.”

With an opening like that, he’s fully expecting Dean to waggle his eyebrows and make some sort of innuendo about having something else that will feel better in Cas’ hand…or at least a “that’s what she said,” so he’s surprised and somewhat unsettled when Dean just hums, hand tightening around the plastic bag he’s carrying.

“Dean? Is everything okay?” He can’t help but notice that Dean’s still standing by the door and it’s not that Cas had expected Dean to leap into his arms and kiss him senseless in greeting just because they’d had incredible, romantic, life-altering (for Cas at least) sex last night…he’d just really hoped for it.

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Sorry I wasn’t here when you got home…I mean here, back, whatever.” Dean clears his throat. “I just had to stop by the post office and take care of some things.”

The post office? Unbidden, Cas’ eyes leap across the apartment to the cabinet where he’d found Dean’s job offer this morning. Obviously, he mailed the letter, but why now? After last night? And without talking to Cas first?

Remembering quickly that he’s not even supposed to know about that letter, Cas drags his eyes away from the kitchen, but it’s too late. Dean’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead as he follows Cas’ line of sight.

“Cas?” he asks pointedly, tilting his head in Cas’ direction.

Feeling himself flush, Cas ducks his head. “I saw your offer letter,” he confesses, “this morning. It fell out of the cabinet when I was reaching for the coffee.” He risks a glance up and finds himself caught in Dean’s green gaze.

“Congratulations.” The word falls flat and Cas tries not to wince.

Finally tossing his car keys on the kitchen counter, Dean steps toward the couch scratching the back of his head with the hand not still holding the plastic shopping bag at his side. “Yeah, thanks. I guess I should say congratulations to you too.”

“To me?” Cas scrunches his forehead in confusion.

“Yeah. Charlie called. Apparently, those _things_ you had to take care of went really well today. She said her contacts loved you.”

“Oh. Um, thanks.” Ten minutes ago he’d been ecstatic over his job interviews. Couldn’t wait to tell Dean. Now, he’s suddenly wondering if he’s made a terrible mistake.

“Yeah. I know you were worried about your future,” Dean goes one, his voice increasingly bitter. “Guess you won’t have to worry now.”

If he weren’t worried it would come out more of sob, Cas would laugh. He’s never _been_ more worried about his future than he is right in this moment.

He’s still staring at Dean, dumbfounded, when Dean starts doing the nervous rambling that Cas usually finds adorable. It causes a sharp twist in his chest to hear now.

“I was thinkin’ about just heating up a frozen pizza for dinner. I mean, if you want that. If not, I guess you could grab somethin’ out.” He glances at Cas’ mug on the table. “You know, you don’t have to haul all your stuff over here. I know you probably miss your apartment. And Gabe.” He pauses. “Or maybe just the apartment.”

Cas’ feels his heart tumble into his stomach, flopping face first into the suddenly churning puddle of his leftover lunch.

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing. I’m just sayin’ you…you don’t _have_ to stay here anymore. It’s been longer than two weeks, anyway.” Dean won’t meet his eyes now and Cas feels the ground crumbling beneath his feet.

“You want me to leave?” He asks in a near whisper and Dean’s eyes jerk up at that.

“I don’t…It’s not…” Dean seems unable to find the right words to express himself and looks at him sadly, which causes a flare of irritation to light up Cas’ insides. If Dean’s going to sleep with him and then kick him out the very next day, the _least_ he could do is not act like a goddamn kicked puppy, as if Cas should be the one feeling sorry for _him_.

Had he really been so wrong about Dean? Is this Derek all over again?

“So, is this it then? Last night was our ‘one more night?’ A two-month seduction for a one-night-stand seems a little over-the-top to me, but what do I know?” The words taste bitter, curling Cas’ tongue like over-steeped tea.

“What? No! Cas, do you really think I’d do that?” Looking panicked now, Dean drops onto the couch next to him, whatever is in his shopping bag landing on the cushion between them and rolling toward the back of the sofa. Both hands now free, he reaches for Cas’, but stops when Cas flinches.

“I wouldn’t do that, Cas. Especially not to you. This…this isn’t that,” Dean pleads helplessly.

“Then what is it, Dean? You spend two months flirting and teasing and making jokes about us hooking up again, then the very day after we finally fall into bed together, you kick me out? How, exactly is this _not_ that?”

“I’m not kicking you out, dammit, I just…I just can’t do this with you,” Dean says, voice rising in frustration. “Look, congratulations on finally figuring out the casual sex thing, buddy, but you picked the wrong guy.”

“What do mean, ‘casual?’ Why would it be ‘casual?’” Cas asks and for once, he doesn’t make the air quotes surrounding the word. His hands are shaking too badly.

Dean gapes at him. “Um, hello, graduation is six weeks away, Cas. Maybe you’re okay with fucking me and playing house for the next six weeks and then up and leaving, but I’m not. Not with you.”

Now it’s Cas’ turn to gape. Is _that_ what’s bothering Dean?

“What the hell are you talking about, me leaving? You’re the one who just accepted a job seven hundred miles away,” he fires back in annoyance, though he’s feeling a tiny ray of hope piercing the dark clouds that have filled the apartment since Dean walked in.

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re the one interviewing for jobs in fucking Austin,” Dean spits.

Cas freezes.

“Austin?” He asks slowly, raising his eyebrows at Dean, who somehow manages to look both sheepish and stubborn at the same time. It is _not_ endearing. He’s just gone ten rounds with Cas’ heart as a punching bag.

“Or San Francisco or LA or wherever,” Dean grumbles. “Those are a hell of a lot farther away than DC.”

“You heard me and Charlie talking,” Cas accuses gently, “Back in the hospital. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dean shrugs. “I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.” Sinking back against the sofa cushions and seeming suddenly smaller, Dean crosses his arms. “Why _didn’t_ you tell me?” He asks quietly.

Cas hears the unasked question. _Why didn’t you tell me before last night?_

“Oh, Dean.” He shifts back on the couch, turning to face Dean more fully, disturbing the bag still lying between them and feeling something hard roll against his hand.

Blinking down at the crinkling plastic, Dean blushes, suddenly and profusely and Cas wonders what could possibly be hidden behind that white plastic that would warrant that kind of a reaction.

Clearing his throat, Dean aims for casual, landing further away than either DC or San Francisco. “Oh. I uh, I got that. For you.”

“Do you still want me to have it?” Cas asks carefully, eyes never leaving Dean’s, even as his fingers itch to find out what’s inside the bag.

“Yeah, sure” Dean shrugs. “It’s a gift. You keep those.”

Picking up the bag, Cas reaches carefully inside, his hand wrapping around cool, hard ceramic as he pulls out a coffee mug, identical to the one he’s drank coffee from nearly every morning he’s been in Dean’s apartment. The only differences being that this one is whole and brand-new, the yellow and red _Denny’s_ logo standing out proudly from the white ceramic.

Cas licks his lips, clutching the mug in his hands. He would very much like to kiss the idiot sitting across from him right now, but he’s fairly certain Dean wouldn’t welcome it.

Instead, he sighs. “I didn’t tell you about the interviews because I didn’t even know if I was going to go to them. I didn’t even decide that fully until today. Besides, they were just interviews. It’s not like I accepted a job somewhere,” he adds quietly.

“Yeah. About that,” Dean starts, but Cas cuts him off.

“And if you have a job waiting for you in DC, why are you upset about the idea of me leaving? You said you can’t ‘do casual’ with me,” Cas asks in confusion, doing the air quotes this time, _Denny’s_ mug cradled in his lap, “but you also don’t do dating. Where does that leave us?” He repeats the same question Dean asked him more than two months ago.

“Yeah. About that no dating thing?” Dean glances at him sheepishly. “That was a stupid fucking rule.”

This time, Cas does laugh and just as he expected, it comes out half-sob.

“So, are you saying you do want to date me, then?”

Dean blushes again, looking at the ground. “I mean, yes? But, uh, it’s more than that. I gave you that stupid ass mug because I like you bein’ here, Cas. With me. And I don’t just wanna date you for the next six weeks and then say goodbye when it’s time for you to fuck off West.”

Looking equal parts terrified and determined, Dean hesitates before he near-whispers, “I bet they have mechanical engineering jobs in Austin.”

Dean is flushed such a deep shade of magenta that Cas might be worried for his blood pressure, were it not for the fact that his own lack of oxygen seems the more critical medical concern at the moment. He hasn’t taken a breath since Dean started talking.

Inhaling shakily, Cas starts, “That’s—”

“But I get it if that’s not something you’d want with me,” Dean interrupts, shame-faced and miserable. “You thought I was just…using you, for sex. You thought I would sleep with you and then just ditch you, without a second thought. Throw you away…” Dean’s face morphs into horrified realization, “Like he did.”

“No, Dean.” Cas carefully moves his _Denny’s_ mug to the safety of the coffee table, where it sits next to the now retired “Give me a <br>” mug. Taking Dean’s hands in his, he gently runs his thumbs over rough knuckles. “I didn’t. Not really. I was just…hurt.”

“Because you did, Cas. At least for a minute, you did.” Dean presses and Cas drops his eyes, unable to disagree. “If you believed that, for even a minute, man, why are you still here?”

“Because I—” Cas stops on a choked off sob. He could stop. Make something up. Brush the beginning of that statement off as something else.

“Because you what?” Dean asks breathlessly and though he tries to keep his voice even, Cas can hear the hope hiding there.

It gives him the courage to take the biggest risk he’s ever taken, even if he still can’t bring himself to look Dean in the eye as he takes the shot he’s been waiting for his whole life.

“Because I love you,” he says to Dean’s work boots, the ones he wears while he’s working with the grounds crew. The stained leather swims before his eyes. “And I _do_ want that with you. I want everything with you.”

He doesn’t get a chance to wipe away his traitorous tears before he feels Dean’s lips on his. As Cas kisses him back with a gasp, Dean’s calloused hands come up to cup his face, thumbs dragging through the tear tracks.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs when they finally break apart, wiping away Cas’ tears, even as his own eyes look a bit damp. “I love you, too.”

The words come out soft and warm and only a tiny bit shaky and Cas swallows them with another kiss, turning fully and bringing one knee up on the sofa so he can climb into Dean’s lap.

Dean’s arms wrap around him as he leans back, lying down against the couch cushions and bringing Cas with him. Led Zeppelin blares from Dean’s phone, but they both ignore it, too busy losing themselves in one another to care. Part of Cas wants to sit up so he can start pulling their shirts off or at least get his hands underneath Dean’s, eager to feel Dean’s skin against his again. The rest of him, though, isn’t willing to unwrap himself from Dean long enough to do so.

Dean breaks their kiss, huffing with breathlessness likely caused both by their prolonged kissing and by Cas’ weight on top of him. Reluctantly, Cas pulls back, sitting up and resting his weight on Dean’s hips instead of his torso. This makes Dean gasp for an entirely different reason, one Cas can’t bring himself to feel the slightest bit bad about, though he does resist the temptation to grind down in Dean’s lap.

“I didn’t mail the letter,” Dean says suddenly, eyes locked on Cas’ this time.

Cas’ eyebrows shoot up. “You didn’t?”

Dean shakes his head. “No. I…I thought about it, when I got Charlie’s call about the interviews, but I just couldn’t do it. I signed it a while ago, but I didn’t want to mail it without getting up the balls to talk to you first.” He licks his lips before continuing, “Remember when Sam told me to choose something I wanted? Something just for me? Well, I am and it’s not some job. It’s you, Cas. I want everything with you, too.”

With that, Cas dives back on top of Dean, clashing their mouths together in another searing kiss. Dean wants _everything_ with him, and Cas…Cas wants. Cas _wants._

A sudden thought brings him up short again though and he sits back up, this time happily giving in to the temptation to rock down against Dean’s increasingly interested member.

As Dean groans, Cas asks, “So, if you didn’t mail the letter, why were you at the post office?”

“Oh,” Dean grins sheepishly, “I had to mail Twilight Sparkle back to Jo.”

Cas chuckles, shaking his head fondly at his sweet, incredible, and yes, still infuriating boyfriend. “That’s okay. I suppose you can mail the letter tomorrow.”

Dean freezes, his hands tightening reflexively on Cas’ hips. “What do you mean? Cas, I thought we were—” he cuts off as Robert Plant’s voice screeches as him from his pocket.

Growling in frustration, Dean shifts so he can pull his phone to silence it, nearly unseating Cas in the process, left hand gripping him even tighter to keep him in place.

He lifts the phone between them, thumb hovering over the side button that will silence the call as his face falls even further.

“Here,” he says gruffly, pushing the phone at Cas. “You should probably take this.”

Blinking at the phone, Cas sees Charlie’s name and contact photo, a cute picture of her and Dean dressed in their LARPing gear. Cas tries not to be distracted by the image of Dean in chainmail, carrying a sword. He wonders distantly if Charlie has any more LARPing events lined up before June.

The devastated look on Dean’s face wipes away any lingering sexy thoughts about defiling a leather-and-mail-clad knight of Moondoor. He swipes to answer Charlie’s call, putting her on speaker. He wants Dean to hear this directly from her. No more doubt or secrets between them.

“Hi Charlie. It’s Cas, but you’re on speaker with Dean, too.”

“’Sup bitches?” Charlie greets cheerfully. “I see your phone’s still dead, Cas. Glad to know you aren’t.”

“It’s charging,” he answers defensively. “And you found me, so what is it?”

“Now, is that any way to talk to the best friend who just helped you land not one, but _two_ job offers in one day?”

“Really?” Cas grins.

“Yep,” Charlie chirps with an exaggerated pop at the end of the word, “You now have your choice between positions in two of the largest software development companies in the DC area, my friend. I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t interview anywhere else though. I’m tellin’ ya, my buddy in Austin loves it there.”

A look of awed understanding crosses Dean’s face. “You only applied to jobs in DC?”

Cas nods. “Technically, I think one is in Alexandria. When I saw your Boeing offer this morning, I had Charlie cancel the ones out West.”

“ _Aww!_ ” comes Charlie’s voice from the phone. Cas glares at it.

Dean grins. “You’d really be willing to move all the way to DC with me? That’s takin’ a pretty big risk, don’t you think?”

Cas bites his lip before answering, “It doesn’t feel like such a risk, with you. I’m pretty sure this is one of those shots I don’t want to miss.”

Dean’s blinding smile makes him brave.

“Plus, I’ve heard it’s pretty expensive in DC. I thought…maybe you could use a roommate?”

Still grinning, Dean’s only answer is to pull Cas back down on top of him, capturing his mouth in another kiss.

The last thing either of them hears for quite some time, aside from eager pants and breathy moans, is Charlie’s squealing, traveling up from Cas’ phone on the carpeted floor after slipping from his fingers and falling past the silently observing mugs on the coffee table.

“O. M. G. _They were roommates_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. One hockey AU, complete with hockey. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> If you did enjoy this story and would like to reblog it, you can do so [here](https://a-mandala-rose.tumblr.com/post/625374312163082240/shotswedonttake). 
> 
> If you'd like to say hi, you can also find me on Twitter as [@MandalaRose2](https://twitter.com/MandalaRose2) or on Facebook as [MandalaRose Fanfic](https://www.facebook.com/mandala.rose.5891). I'd love to chat with you!
> 
> If hockey AUs are your thing (and why wouldn't they be??) you might enjoy my other two Destiel hockey stories, [It’s In His Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885042) and [Paparazzi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521735).
> 
> And if you happen to be a fan of two-person love triangles, Baker!Dean, or adorable rescue kittens, here's a sneak peek at my next WIP, set to start posting next month:
>
>> Dean can't believe his brother. Thinking the two of them can take care of a baby kitten. There has to be someone else out there who’s better prepared for this. In fact, Dean knows there is and it’s literally _anyone else but him_.
>> 
>> Finding his way to the cat section at the back of the store, Dean scowls at the long stretch of cat food options. Why the hell are there so many? What the hell do cats even eat anyway? He picks up the nearest bag and reads the ingredients: _whole ground corn, soybean meal, chicken by-product meal.._
>> 
>> Making a disgusted face, he quickly sets it back on the shelf and opts for a package that claims to be “100% Grain-Free” and has a picture of a wild lynx on the front. He nods approvingly as he reads the back of the package and discovers no soy or “by-products,” (whatever the fuck those are) and the first ingredient seems to be actual chicken. If he were a cat-person, which he’s not, this is what he’d feed his cat. Fuck that other shit.
>> 
>> A loudspeaker chimes overhead and a clearly exhausted employee says in her best, get-the-fuck-out-here-before-I-start-turning-off-the-lights-on-your-goddamn-loitering-asses customer service voice, “Attention customers, Purrs and Paws will be closing in five minutes. Please make your final selections and move toward the registers. Have a paws-itively purr-fect evening.”
>> 
>> Startled back to action, Dean hastily replaces the lynx-sporting bag of cat food and moves on down the aisle. All the bags he sees say either “adult” or “senior.” Almost to the end of the aisle, he spots a series of smaller bags labelled, “kitten chow.” Eureka.
>> 
>> Dean scoops up the nearest bag and is about to head to the front of the store when he pauses. Wait, Sam said, “kitten formula.” Did that mean “formula” as in the recipe for the kitten chow, or “formula” like baby formula? Shit.  
> He scans the aisle for something, anything labeled, “kitten formula.”
>> 
>> “Goddamn, shaggy-haired fleabag better appreciate this,” he grumbles under his breath. An elderly woman pushing an assortment of both wet and dry cat food stops to shoot him a dirty look on her way past.
>> 
>> “I’m talking about my brother, not the cat,” Dean clarifies, but she just sniffs and makes her glare even more pointed.
>> 
>> Dean scowls at her and she moves on in a huff, casting disapproving glances back at him as she goes.
>> 
>> He’s considering the pros and cons of giving an octogenarian the finger when the overhead speaker dings again, “Attention customers, Purrs and Paws is now closed. Please bring your items to the registers.”
>> 
>> “God-fucking-dammit!”

**Author's Note:**

> My original challenge prompt (And yes, the hockey player was named Dean in the original story. Who was I to argue? 😂):
> 
> _The Score_
> 
> He knows how to score, on and off the ice
> 
> Allie Hayes is in crisis mode. With graduation looming, she still doesn’t have the first clue about what she's going to do after college. To make matters worse, she’s nursing a broken heart thanks to the end of her longtime relationship. Wild rebound sex is definitely not the solution to her problems, but gorgeous hockey star Dean Di Laurentis is impossible to resist. Just once, though, because even if her future is uncertain, it sure as heck won’t include the king of one-night stands.
> 
> It’ll take more than flashy moves to win her over
> 
> Dean always gets what he wants. Girls, grades, girls, recognition, girls…he’s a ladies man, all right, and he’s yet to meet a woman who’s immune to his charms. Until Allie. For one night, the feisty blonde rocked his entire world—and now she wants to be friends? Nope. It’s not over until he says it’s over. Dean is in full-on pursuit, but when life-rocking changes strike, he starts to wonder if maybe it’s time to stop focusing on scoring…and shoot for love.


End file.
